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Capt. Irving C. Bolton 



RIDING TO WAR 
WITH "A" 



A HISTORY OF BATTERY "A' 

OF THE 135th FIELD 

ARTILLERY 

BY 

FRED RALPH WITT 

SOUVENIR EDITION 



CLEVELAND 

EVANGELICAL PRESS 

C. HAUSER, Publisfiei 

Woodland Ave. 



^ 






Copyright 1919 
BY FRED RALPH WITT 



^t^ 2G 1919 



TO CAPTAIN IRVING C. BOLTON 

WHO NEVER NEEDED HIS BARS TO GAIN 

THE DEVOTED 

LOYALTY OF HIS BOYS 

THESE PAGES ARE DEDICATED. 



FOREWORD 



alS we look back at our army days, the passage 
of twie tends more and mor-e to make the 
mfA-% activities of Battery "A" the experiences and 
ekJ^M accomplishments of a single unit. Grades and 
distinctions of authority are levelled. The "buck 
private in the rear rank" and the officer blend into 
one big "we" that means Battery "A". Individual 
tasks and actions all flow into one central, forward- 
sweeping current of achievement. 

It is this central current that we have tried to fol- 
low in the ensuing pages, and it is this "we" that is 
^lsed throughout to mean not only the Captain, but 
also the loivliest private, all working shoulder to 
shoulder to achieve a single purpose that would have 
been impossible without either. 

Read, therefore, not the story of Sergeant Jones, 
or of "Permanent K. P. Smith", or of Section U — 
but of Battery "A"— of "US". 

If, in the writing of these short chapters, we have 
exaggerated in places, we have done so withoiit in- 
tent. If we have understated, it was also ivithout 
design. We submit the story neither for criticism 
nor praise, but with the sole purpose of keeping alive 
in our memories the main events of two red-blooded 
years that ive wish neither time nor circumstance 
to siveep away. F P W 

May 16th, 1919. 



CONTENTS 

RECRUITING BATTERY "A" 

Captain Irving C. Bolton 

* » ♦ 

RIDING TO WAR WITH "A" 

Fred R. Witt 

* « « 

'FAMOUS WORDS AND PHRASES' 

* * * 

"GENERAL ORDER No. 37" 

* * * 

IN MEMORIAM 



* * * 



BATTERY ROSTER 

« * « 



RECRUITING BATTERY "A' 

BY CAPT. IRVING C. BOLTON. 



C5 



ROOP A, First Squadron Cavalry, Ohio Na- 
tional Guard, retui-ned from its nine months' 
tour of duty on the Mexican Border at El Paso 
and Fabens, Texas, and were mustered out 
of the Federal Service on February 28, 1917. 
Scarcely a month had passed before war was de- 
clared against Germany and the call to arms sounded 
for the returned troopers. While the war clouds had 
been gathering talk had been rife among the troopers 
of expanding the old squadron into a regiment of 
cavalry, and on the declaration of war, permission 
to do so was at once obtained. Recruiting offices were 
opened in the Troop A Armory and on the Public 
Square and were quickly thronged with applicants. 
The prestige of old Troop A attracted the best of the 
city's youth, and six troops in Cleveland were quickly 
recruited to war strength by voluntary enlistment be- 
fore the subject of compulsory service was broached 
in Congress. Members of the "Black Horse Troop" 
were commissioned as officers of the newly organized 
troops, and the three officers of the new Troop A 
were Fayette Brown, Captain, Robert H. Jamison, 
First Lieutenant, and Newell C. Bolton, Second 
Lieutenant. John N. Garfield was appointed First 
Sergeant. 

It was soon felt, however, that cavalry would see 
little, if any active service in the trench warfare of 
Europe, and authorization was granted to transfer 
into field artillery. Applications for enlistment were 
so numerous that the officers felt justified in expand- 
ing the cavalry regiment into two regiments of artil- 
lery. Cleveland and Toledo, accordingly, recruited 
9 



RECRUITING BATTERY "A". 



the 2nd Ohio Field Artillery, and Cincinnati, Colum- 
bus and Youngstown the 3rd Ohio. The officers of 
the 2nd Ohio Field Artillery were entirely drawn 
from members of the old Troops A and D who had 
had the experience of Border service, and of this 
regiment Batteries A, C, D and F and the Head- 
quarters and Supply Companies were assigned to 
Cleveland. 

An artillery battery having almost double as many 
members as a cavalry troop, a new recruiting cam- 
paign was opened, and hundreds of patriotic young 
men presented themselves for examination for enlist- 
ment. Street-cars and shop windows were plastered 
with posters urging the advantages of our branch of 
the service, and the phrase "Join the artillery and 
ride to war" became our slogan. Over a thousand 
men were recruited in Cleveland for the regiment, 
careful selection being made by the recruiting of- 
fiers from the three thousand and odd applicants. 

The change from cavalry to artillery entailed the 
promotion of more officers. In consequence Captain 
Fayette Brown became Major of the 2nd Battalion. 
Irving C. Bolton was made Captain of Battery A 
with Albert Y. Meriam and William F. Spieth, Jr., 
as First Lieutenants and Quay H. Findley and John 
N. Garfield as Second Lieutenants, with which of- 
fiers the Battery left for Camp Sheridan, Mont- 
gomery, Alabama, August 26th, 1917. 



10 



"OVER THERE." 



RIDING TO WAR WITH "A." 



CHAPTER L 



G 



WO years previous to April 6th, 1917, 
we of the future Battery "A" were 
all vaguely alive to a big war that had 
been going on away off somewhere on an- 
other continent. The magazine poets and 
the Belgian relief societies called it "Over 
There." The war furnished us thrilling 
headlines in the daily papers, or a topic in a 
conversational pinch, or perhaps a share in 
the profits of a munitions plant ; but beyond 
that it was all, as the sentimentalist so pret- 
tily put it, simply "Over There." We had 
our jobs, our studies, our parties, dances, 
clubs and fraternities to attend to. If a 
U-boat took an occasional American life on 
the high seas, we cussed the Kaiser for his 
effrontery. The American came in for his 
share of it, too. Why was he snooping 
around in the middle of an ocean filled with 
11 



OUR WAR. 



mad-dog subs? It wasn't his war! If the 
Germans broke through the British and 
French lines, it was "tough luck" for the 
British and the French, and maybe we hoped 
they'd take a brace for their own sake. 
The Belgian horrors were depressing. The 
Turks were after the Armenians in the good 
old Turkish manner. But to most of us it 
was all four thousand miles away. It was 
''Over There." 

Then the Lusitania went down. The Ger- 
man-Mexican intrigues were exposed. The 
leaders of American thought gradually en- 
lightened the public on the perilous position 
of our own democracy. And on April 6th, 
1917, Uncle Sam called Germany's time-worn 
bluff with a declaration of war. The war 
was now our war. In an hour it had leapt 
the four thousand miles of land and water 
from that vague, faraway, intangible "Some- 
where," and we awoke one day to find it at 
our doorsteps. In the space of a night the 
country became ablaze with the spirit of war. 

We who were soon to be members of Bat- 
tery "A" could not, and did not want to, evade 
that spirit. We saw it over our breakfast 
12 



THE "WAR BUG." 



cups in the morning papers, we heard it on 
the street cars going to our daily work. It 
was on the lips of the stranger across from 
us at lunch, in the anxious looks of our moth- 
ers at home, and at the last moment of the 
day the newsboys shouted it past the bed- 
room window as we tried to sleep. But we 
could not sleep. What were jobs, studies, 
dances, theaters, fraternities? The United 
States was at tvar! 

So April 6, 1917, became the birthday oi 
our battery. It may have been a poster in 
a store window, bright with colors that 
formed a dashing mount, a khaki-clad rider, 
and a flashing blade; or perhaps it was a 
more conservative street-car placard, or a 
newspaper advertisement, or a movie film of 
Troop "A" cavalry life at the Border, or the 
prestige of that ''black-horse" organization, 
or a "hunch," or just the advice of a good 
friend that sent us down to the old Troop 
"A" Riding Academy Building on East 55th 
Street to volunteer. But volunteer for some- 
thing we must. It was the only relief from 
that swirling mixture of patriotism, duty, 
indignation, wanderlust, adventure, and 
13 



THE "WAR BUG." 



(shall we confess it?) romanticism that 
made our hearts throb fast and that aval- 
anched all the other concerns of our daily 
lives. 



14 



TROOP "A" RIDING ACADEMY. 



CHAPTER II. 



I UR earliest recollections of army life — 

back in April and May, 1917 — are not 

1^1 so distant that they have lost in the 
slightest the tang of the tan-bark that filled 
the Troop "A" riding arena. It is in our 
nostrils yet and was our first impression as 
we entered the dingy old structure to enlist. 
Our second was of an ever so long-legged hulk 
of a figure in khaki uniform, sprawled around 
a desk. He quizzed each of us, noting down 
our answers, and then, if satisfied, sent us 
upstairs with a little white card for physical 
examination. 

On the way we had our first glimpse of 
the club room. Its heavy oak furnishings and 
mantle were littered with army journals and 
literature about horses. Through rifts in the 
cigarette smoke that lounging members in 
khaki were exhaling we could discern the pic- 
tures on the walls, of horses. Above the hum 
of the general conversation we heard two 
15 



FIRST "PSYCHOLOGICAL MOMENT." 

voices in friendly argument, about horses. 
Pausing at the head of the stairs, we glanced 
across a balcony overlooking the riding 
arena. The floor was banked high with sad- 
dles, harness, sabers, rifles, tarpaulins, tents 
and tent poles, soup kitchens and a maze 
of martial accouterments with which as 
rookies — oh, sweet ignorance! — we were un- 
familiar. Timorously we stepped into the 
examining room. There, while we furtively 
memorized the eye-test at close range, two 
medics slapped our rookie predecessors on 
the back, pulled wide their jaws for a glance 
into the abdomen, thumped them on the 
chest, poked them in the ribs, pronounced 
them fit to fight, and hollered "Next!" 

Soon came our first big "psychological 
moment" in the army. Once again in the 
club room on the first floor, with pen, ink, 
official document and witness, the deed was 
done. Our signatures were "thereto at- 
tached" and, right hand raised, we became 
the property of Uncle Sam, — with what con- 
flicting flurries of doubt, panic, hoplessness, 
pride, patriotism, and the Melodramatic 
Thrills of Being a Hero, no one who hasn't 

16 



RUMORS. 



signed a volunteer entlistment during a war 
can ever know. Going home in a sort of daze, 
we told mother what we had done. 

We were no sooner in the National Guard 
than rumors began. The arm.y is the hot- 
house of rumors. It is there, of all places on 
earth, that they are intensely cultivated, 
studied, grafted, cross-bred, transplanted, 
tampered with, distorted, batted around, and 
multiplied unto the ten thousandth genera, 
tion. Every moment of our army lives, on 
land and sea, until the last minute that the 
last "A" man was mustered out, rumors 
clung to us, and did prosper, and made us 
glad or sad. Rumors thrived on us and we 
thrived on rumors. They were often the 
only indoor sport we had. And there is al- 
ways this in defense of the rumor, and there- 
in lies its grip and charm : it might be true. 

The first "big rumor" came in April, 1917, 
as we executed in "civies" the dear old 
"Squads east and west" on the springy sod of 
the Troop "A" building. It was that we were 
not to be cavalry : there was no need for 
cavalry in war as they were fighting it "Over 
There". Faded the billboard visions of 
17 



CHANGED TO ARTILLERY. 

charging steed and flashing saber! Our 
Ohio Cavalry officers were trying to change 
to field artillery. Many of us were discour- 
aged, but yet, as field artillery we would still 
have our horses and "ride to war", and the 
feeling was soon forgotten. May 22, 1917, 
it was officially announced that we were 
transformed from the First Ohio Cavalry to 
the Second Ohio Field Artillery, N. G. 

Until the end of June, the routine of "us 
rookies" was a half-hearted attempt at our 
ordinary civilian pursuits during the day, 
and at night the more interesting foot-drill, 
manual of the rifle and pistol, measurements 
for uniforms, and lectures on military topics. 
It was at the latter that we of "A" first met 
and became attached to the man who was to 
lead us with such admirable devotion and 
capacity all through the trials of our train- 
ing, fighting, and demobilization days. June 
5th was Registration Day, but to us it meant 
only that we would receive a blue card from 
our officers showing we had already volun- 
teered. 



18 



UNIVERSITY SCHOOL. 



CHAPTER III. 

IT last came July 15, 1917. On the bat- 
tery records of that day is just a 
^^i laconic "Inspection by Capt. 0. P. M. 
Hazard at University School." But to the 
184 of us it meant that we could forsake the 
jobs and civilian connections that, since our 
enlistment, had become a bore, and devote our 
time to learning the science of warfare. 

The University School buildings and 
grounds were now our headquarters where 
we spent our days, and, those of us whose 
homes were out-of-town, our nights. A pri- 
vate caterer, under government contract, 
served meals to all who wished them. The 
showers, natatorium and gymnasium (which 
was used as sleeping quarters) were open to 
us. On the athletic field, midst the plaudits 
and gazes of a grandstand filled with friends 
and relatives, the embryonic batteries of the 
regiment had the first growing pains of their 
evolution into an efl^cient fighting force. 
19 



BITTER DAYS. 



We were a non-descript, flabby bunch, in 
all degrees of dress and undress, arrayed in 
every conceivable combination of civilian, 
army and boy scout uniform. A few were 
issued parts of salvaged Troop "A" uniforms ; 
the "gay-dogs" among us hastened down 
town for a complete outfit of soldier clothe^, 
which were kept scrupulously pressed for 
"Her" adoration; and the great majority 
drilled in civilian clothes which soon looked 
old if they weren't. Meanwhile we sent up 
the cry, in ever increasing volume and lam- 
ent, "When do we get our uniforms?" Noth- 
ing in the world was more important to us at 
the time. 

Those were the bitter, grinding days — 
from 9 :00 'til 11 :00 and from 1 :00 'til 3 :00 ! 
At 9 :00 we started our setting-up exercises 
as our knees cracked like a macadam roller 
on a new road. Then it was a drink and a 
rest on the lawn under the shade trees. Then 
a spell of foot drill, a drink and a rest. A 
little more drill. Drink, rest. Drill, drink, 
rest. Drink. Drink. Rest. Rest. Ice 
cream and cake. 

20 



FRENCH LESSONS. 



In the afternoons were French lessons 
by a well-known Cleveland architect. He 
was the most pyrotechnic exponent of that 
soft tongue we have ever witnessed. He 
tried to teach us a blood-curdling French 
battle song, but all we could imbibe was 
the "boom ala la la laaayah, boom ala la 
la laaayah" that brought the thing to its 
terrible climax. Better was his success 
with La Marseillaise which later earned us 
many a drink in French cafes when pay day, 
as was often its habit, came not. After the 
French lessons, we frequently assembled for 
medical lectures on "Why to bathe three 
times a day during battle" or "The thorough 
sterilization of mess kits after each meal at 
the front." Non-commissioned officer schools 
for those who had military aspirations, sema- 
phore and wig- wag drill, baseball, swimming, 
practice guard mounts and medical examina- 
tions filled in the balance of the schedule. 
During the lattermost, they found birth- 
marks we never knew we had, and recorded 
our finger prints in the approved Bertillon 
style, while we wondered if we really looked 
so desperate. It was at these examination- 
21 



FIRST UNIFORMS. 



that we first waited in line, and we waited in 
line ever after. For two years of the twenty 
months we were still to serve in the army, we 
waited in line. Our last order before dis- 
charge was to wait in line. Napoleon will 
never touch, for military fame and glory, the 
fellow who can eliminate the army line. 

August 3rd we received our vaccinations 
and our first non-coms. Both were highly 
successful after slight irritation. August 
5th we were "mustered and drafted into the 
military service of the United States." And 
August 13th came the Great Day. Piece by 
piece, first shoes, then hats, shirts, breeches 
and blouses, we got our regulation uniforms. 
Incidentally, that day marks the beginning 
of the war-long Battle of Wits between the 
supply sergeant, lone and grim, steadfast 
guardian of the State's treasure, on one side, 
entrenched against the remainder of a pre- 
datory horde who sought ever with shams 
and base pretenses to separate him from his 
extra wealth. But the 13th was to most of 
us a disallusionment. How we looked and 
how we expected to look in our first military 

22 



9i: 




Recruits of Battery "A," 135th Field Artillery. Taken August 1, 1917, University School Barrjcks, Cleveland. Ohic 



FOR HEROES ONLY. 

garb is a comparisDn that would fill a chapter 
with deepest pathos. 

By this time the nightly affairs on the 
front porch were getting quite heart-rending 
with most of us. Every night might be the 
last night, and no one was taking any 
chances. Camp Sheridan, near Montgomery 
Ala., had been selected from a half-dozen 
rumored locations as our training camp, and 
we were expecting daily to hear the order to 
pack up. The "typhoid immunization" was 
administered in the good old way August 
17th, with immediate and customary effects. 
But it did not immunize us from a march, in 
the evening, to the new City Hall, where, we 
learned later, the mayor made a speech of 
farewell to several thousand soldiers while a 
chorus of ladies sang something appropriate 
for departing heroes between speeches. We 
tried to be good sports, clapped and hollered 
when the rest did, and finally they let us go 
home. 

Fully officered, enlisted to war strength, 

and organized for a harder schedule, we were 

fast growing impatient. We wanted "to get 

out of this place" and we said it more often 

23 



"GETTING OUT." 



each day. In fact, during our entire life in 
the O. D. there have been few, if any, camps 
that we didn't soon want "to get out of". 
It held true of the Troop "A" Building, of 
University School, of Sheridan, Knotty Ash, 
Winnal Down, Havre, De Souge, Neuville, 
Thillombois, Pierrefitte, Segre, and, very 
naturally of Brest, Stuart and Sherman on 
the return trip. Yet experience, especially 
A. E. F. experience, taught us that almost 
invariably the change was from better to 
worse. 

So Sunday, August 26th, at 4:00 P. M., 
with farewells a hundred times said and 
heartaches that we tried not to show, the 
195 of us "got out". Under a hot sun we 
marched to the Union Depot, where friends 
filled the streets and said goodbye once more ; 
and at 5:30 our train of tourist sleepers 
slowly pulled away from the dear ones, the 
homes and the good old city that many of us 
were not to see agam until it was all over. 

Once on the way, the strain of parting 
over, our spirits reacted to a sort of artifi- 
cial hilarity that filled the cars with songs, 
shouting and laughter, while slap shoulder 
24 



SOUTHWARD — HO! 

good fellowship abounded everywhere. 
Groups formed around tinkling mandolins 
and guitars which the roar of the train could 
not discourage. Cards and dice received theii 
share of boisterous attention. But here and 
there some fellow sat alone, gazing far 
across the fields that sped past. 



25 



SHERIDAN AND CUSSES. 



CHAPTER IV. 



w 



E rode for 32 hours, stopping for a 
hike at Nashville, where we marched 
fast to avoid sticking to the melted 
asphalt streets. Our train reached its desti- 
nation at 2 : 00 A. M., August 28th. At dawn 
we got the first glimpse, from our car win- 
dows, of "Camp Sheridan," And, as we 
were fated to do so many times in the future 
for relief, we cussed. We have never pitied 
ourselves, we have never whimpered, and we 
have never backed down on a big job ; but we 
have cussed — and then laughed. 

Our part of "Camp Sheridan" was a vast 
field of scattered cotton plants that were at 
death-grips with thorny brambles and were 
getting the worst of it. Far in the back- 
ground we could discern two lines of new 
cypress buildings. They were the shower 
shacks, which were fortunately already 
piped, and the mess halls. But they were all 
26 



"BATTLE OF SHERIDAN." 

of our part of "Camp Sheridan". In front 
and behind them, far back to a line of cool- 
looking trees, were the eternal white cotton 
balls and brambles. By the time we had 
loaded our baggage on trucks, the heat of the 
Alabama sun was bouncing off the blood-red 
clay of the fields and doing quivering hula- 
hulas in the atmosphere. Regaled with an 
apple and a sandwich apiece, we charged 
across the heat-soaked No Man's Land to the 
new shacks and began the Battle of Sheridan. 
By nightfall, with the aid of pick, shovel, 
rake and hoe and good supervision by our 
officers, we had two lines of pyramidal tents 
(old Troop "A" material) , ten cots in each 
tent, two handfuls of blisters apiece, and com- 
plexions that would have made a self-respect- 
ing lobster blush. Next day, with a make- 
shift drag drawn by fifty men and bestridden 
by some fortune-favored soul we started 
clearing "A" Street of the cotton plants and 
brambles which had called a truce to rob us 
of the only breeches we had. The change of 
climate and water and the sweet potato 
"pies" we clandestinely bought of the black 
"mammies" who slinked about camp "got 
27 



DIXIE NIGHTS. 



to" many of us the second day, causing a 48 
hour lay-off. But we were soon at work 
again. A darky with a team of mules was 
somehow inveigled into working. Ditches 
were dug, the mess shack floor was levelled 
with tons of earth, crude stoves were in- 
stalled in the kitchen; across what was to 
become Brigade Road the three officer's tents 
were erected, trees were chopped down and 
stumps torn out — all by "hands that ne'er 
did know the taint of plebian toil" and cer- 
tainly felt like it. Fairly secure against the 
weather, we salvaged scrap wood and ■ laid 
floors in our tents when our turn for the 
saw and hammer came 'round. We even 
went in for the "reflned things of life", 
building foot-lockers and writing desks. 

Still, it was not all toil, even during the 
pioneer days at Sheridan. If the early 
morning swarmed with crazy gnats that 
fled for cover when a higher sun began to 
singe their wings, the Dixie night retrieved 
the burning day. The stars, brilliant in a 
crystal atmosphere, blinked, blinded, at a 
mammoth moon which threw our tents in 
grotesque silhouette upon the battery stre^^t. 
28 



THE WILY SNIPE. 



Fireflies from the shores of the Tuscaloosa 
flashed their mystic glow around the tents 
and lighted the way for inarticulate longingKS. 
There was something in the cool evening air 
that made harsh noises sweet and gave to 
voices the sound of coming from afar, over 
water. On nights like these, grouped in tho 
circles of an already growing camwradey^ie, 
we sang songs old and new to the accompani- 
ment of mandolins and guitars, and laid the 
foundation of life-long friendships. 

It must not be imagined, however, that 
the nights of the first weeks were all music. 
Down in the marshes of the distant woods 
the wily snipe with that haunting, elusive cry 
which defies description, would test the witsi 
of our craftiest comrades armed with bags, 
candles, and mosquito netting. But the 
southern snipe is wiser than his northern 
cousin, and, while often reported to have run 
toward his hunters. Battery "A" never had 
the snipe banquet for which our mouths 
watered. 

Already we were breaking into Mont- 
gomery society. We had no sooner reached 
camp than the Montgomery papers exposed 

29 



"THE MILLIONAIRE BATTERY. " 

the vast wealth of our buck privates with 
the first-page headlines that "Cleveland's 
Millionaire Battery" had arrived. The Mont- 
gomery Stock Exchange had its flurry and 
the price tags in many stores were shuffled, 
but there was no serious calamity. So the 
society of Montgomery treated us like mil- 
lionaires, and, even after the bubble was 
burst by a subsequent journalistic needle, 
continued to do so. Those of us who "went 
in" for them found no end of dances, intro- 
ductions, parties and southern hospitality. 
The churches, too, were popular with "A" 
boys. (Oh, can it be that free Sunday din- 
ners had something to do with it?) The 
Exchange and Gay-Teague Hotels, Harry's 
Place (prohibition, absolutely) and the 
Grand Theater were also popular dodges 
from details. Of the handsome southern 
planter in Prince Albert coat and Stetsoji 
hat, standing on the huge colonial porch of 
his sire's estate, northern authors showed us 
more than Alabama. And we never saw an 
"Uncle Joe pickin' on his ol' banjo", either. 
Most of the Uncle Joes must have hocked 
their instruments for moonshine. 

30 



135TH ARRIVES. 



By the third week of September the full 
meaning of "Pioneer Battery" dawned on us. 
Our own street quite perfect, we were put to 
erecting tents for the rest of the regiment, 
soon to arrive from Cleveland and Toledo. 
Our idea of the rest of the regiment made 
the sun look like an iceburg, but we cussed, 
then laughed, spat on the leather of our 
palms and put up the tents. September 
26th, the bulk of the 135th Field Artillery, 
62nd Brigade (so designated by G. 0. 12, 
Sept. 15, 37th Div.) had arrived. Their 
first taste of the southern clime was a 70- 
mile tornado and deluge that blew down half 
their tents and swelled drainage ditches into 
torrents for 24 hours. 



31 



GOODBYE LEATHER "PUTTS." 



CHAPTER V. 



ICTOBER, 1917, with the entire 62nd 

Brigade in camp, began a period of 

i^M re-adjustment and curtailment of 
privileges. 

During the first weeks, at Montgomery 
military shops and even before that, in Cleve- 
land, we had supplemented our issue clothing 
with white collars, green Stetsons, military 
coats, pointed russet shoes, and leather putts 
of wondrous luster. As a result the nev/ 
"buck" privates saluted one another with a 
prodigality that was astounding, while fledg- 
ling 2nd "lieuts" from Fort Ben, — oh horrible 
to relate, — repeatedly stood at rigid attention 
while Private John Henry Jones swung past 
in the dusk. Said Private Jones acknow- 
ledged the courtesy with his most condescend- 
ing salute and executed a quick fade-away 
before the illusion failed. In those days you 
could never tell until you got a bird's-eye 
view of a man's shoulder straps whether he 
32 



GOODBYE HOLIDAYS. 



was a plain, rear-rank "buck" or a brigadier 
general. So the new second lieutenants held 
an indignation meeting, had an order put 
through, and got all the fine equipment they 
wanted at second-hand prices. 

Wednesday half-holidays were withdrawn 
entirely and it was gently disclosed to us that 
henceforth Saturday afternoon was a favor 
to be had at times, but nevermore a right. 
Passes to town became a necessity. We coun- 
tered with the old army game of ''Fixing up 
the Pass". With careful fixing and an 
haughty air while you swished it past the 
M. P.'s eye, an ordinary half-day pass could 
be stretched into a week. Taps was shoved 
nearer sun-down, and we raced the sun for 
reveille every day. Later on, in the winter, 
we won out. Many a "buck" has slumbered 
on at reveille roll-call while his pal hollered 
"Here !" twice through the morning murk. 
Noon mess got wedged so tight between drill 
hours that the " seconds hounds" never tasted 
their "firsts." 

The first of a series of intensive training 
schedules which were to occupy the rest of 
Gur training days was introduced at this 
33 



INTERNATIONAL EXERCISE. 

time. It provided enough setting-up exer- 
cises to last a life-time. They comprised the 
"Japanese walk," the "German goose-step,'' 
the "Russian gavorski" and a lot of other 
superhuman efforts and contortions that held 
us somewhere between sky and earth or mas- 
saged our sweating frames into the dusty 
clay. On a sizzling drill field still billowy 
from the plow of agricultural days, we did 
"squads east and west," full-step, half-step 
and double-quick until our legs and brains 
grew numb. For recreation we were per- 
mitted to run across the state with a com- 
rade on our backs and to exchange him for 
another fellow, who, according to the rules 
of the game, got the ride back. And where, 
oh where, were the lawns, the shade trees, 
the ice cream and cake of the days of yore? 
Yet, to these new hardships our bodies 
responded with a quickness that amazed us. 
Within a week the "glass" had left our 
muscles. In two weeks we were "putting 
on beef" and going through the mess line 
with a zest that made our cooks conceited. 
The end of the day no longer found our legs 
and our brains numb. Our waistlines began 
34 



"CANNONEERS, POST!" 



to crawl upward to our chests and never 
came down again, while all civilians shriveled 
into the palest, weakest beings we ever saw. 
We had never noticed this before ! By the 
end of that first six-week schedule we had 
learned — many of us for the first time — 
what Ma Nature can do if you just give her 
half a chance. 

Our next intensive training schedule be- 
gan to specialize more particularly in artil- 
lery work. A few slats of wood laid on the 
ground became for us wheels, gun-barreis 
and limbers. "Cannoneers, fall in" and 
"Cannoneers, post" became the commands of 
the day, pushing "Squads rrright, yyyyy- 
000000" and all its diabolical relations into 
the background. They sent us leaping on, 
off and around airy caissons and pieces, 
straining at imaginary spokes, and occasion- 
ally, so our oflficers informed us, plowing 
right through a 3-inch gun barrel. After- 
noon classes were formed for prospective 
members of the Battery Commander's Detail 
and our non-commissioned officers wrestled 
with the mathematical end of gun-pointing. 

35 



"THE VETERAN 1 3 4 T H." 

We began to visit our neighbors, "The 
Veteran 134th from the Border," whom we 
secretly worshipped as The Thing in field 
artillery, though we all planned some day 
to make the whole outfit unnecessary when 
we were around. On these visits the veter- 
ans demonstrated their drill-lore with real 
guns, real caissons and real horses. Ari^/- 
lery Drill Regulations split and in hand, we 
sat around, trying our darndest to detect 
flaws in their work. One afternoon they 
dazzled us with a regimental mounted drill, 
the biggest maneuver we had ever seen. 
But they were nice to us: they let us clean 
their pieces and their harness, — and eveTi 
their horses later on. 



36 



PROMISES AND HOPES.- 



X 



CHAPTER VI. 

T had been promised us back in the 
Cleveland days — and all field artillery 
drill books seemed to agree — that we 
were to "ride to war." Accordingly, we had 
been laboring with willing diligence on the 
battery stables, which, along with a hospital, 
supply store-houses, canteen, officers' mess 
hall, and other buildings, had been added to 
our part of the camp. We hauled earth and 
clay by the ton, we felled trees to divide the 
stalls, we graded and ditched, we shovelled, 
raked and hoed, we hammered and we sawed, 
— all for those noble, slim-limbed, fleet and 
blooded specimens of equinity that we were 
now told we might expect daily, and that we 
had ridden full-gallop so often into the glor- 
ious battles of our dreams. 

Came, at last, the day of days. Decem- 
ber 9th a detail was selected to go to the re- 
mount station for our first assignment of 
horses. The rest of us waited expectantly. 
37 



INDIVIDUAL MOUNTS. 

Hours dragged past. And at twilight we 
descried, winding slowly around a corner, 
what seemed, in the dim distance, a caravan 
of great elephants. They were peacefully 
led — so wonderful is the brain of man — by 
a few tiny specks that we knew were our 
comrades. The sight inspired visions of 
Elephant Artillery and South African cam- 
paigns, but it was not to be. Upon closer 
approach, the stable sergeant diagnosed the 
mammals as "horses." We have taken his 
word for it ever since. Next morning the 
same sergeant, leading forth from its stall 
a big lumbering beast with hoofs a foot 
square and a chest a yard wide, discoursed 
tenderly upon its frailness, gave a demon- 
stration in the use of a curry-comb and 
brush, and consigned the "first twenty" to 
our tender mercies. Throughout December 
and early January we received horses to a 
total, on January 9th, of 179. The reds, 
Vvhites, browns and grays were "swapped" 
for the blacks in other batteries of the regi- 
ment. We soon had, in emulation of old 
Troop "A," a "Black Horse Battery." 

With what anguish, mental and physical, 
38 



"RIDE THAT HORSE !" 

such phrases as "Going- to town !", "Hold her, 
Newt!", "Ride that horse!", and "Trrrot!" 
came into popularity in our battery during 
the first few weeks with our horses, only we 
can ever know. The field behind the stables 
became our riding circle, to which daily we 
escorted our charges for exercise that gave us 
our first purgatorial lessons in horsmanship. 
Without bridles, without experience, only 
with halter ropes and hopeless desperation, 
we began the task of "mastering" eight 
scores of fiy-brain critters that never had 
been ridden and never were designed to be. 
For a few terrible days, if we were able to 
climb on, we went in all directions at once, 
including up, down and off. The beasts 
themselves usually chose the stables, dash- 
ing tumultuously thereto, and we never dis- 
puted, going right along, "ducking" or fall- 
ing off when the stall was attained, — while 
comrades whose "turn" had'nt come shouted 
humor that we couldn't appreciate. Scat- 
tered along the field were the other batteries 
of the regiment, picking themselves out of 
the dirt, brushing off the dust, and pursuing 
galloping mountains across the lanscape. 

39 



KIND RELATIVES. 



But gradually, out of chaos, with the aid of 
bridles and precious experience for both 
horses and men, came order. We were doing 
fours, eights, and sixteens abreast with pre- 
cision; we were "riding our horses" and 
they had ceased riding us. So that by De- 
cember 25th we were able to sit quite com- 
fortably again at our mess table to enjoy 
a memorable Christmas dinner in the com- 
pany of friends and relatives from Cleveland. 

The mention of relatives reminds us of the 
startling mortality among grandmothers and 
aged aunts of battery members which began 
about this time. They were the same old 
dears who so obligingly passed away for us 
on former occasions when Cleveland was hot 
after the American League pennant or the 
fish were biting w^ell, and those of us who 
received furloughs hereby sincerely hope that 
they may live to die many more times. 



40 



PROGRESS. 



CHAPTER VII. 



C 



HE advent of the new year found us 
making rapid and encouraging strides 
toward the Colonel's goal of "deliver- 
ing to the United States Government, on de- 
mand, one 100 7r efficient regiment of field 
artillery." With the materiel of the 134th we 
had been doing mounted drill maneuvers and 
taking long hikes with pieces, caissons and 
limbers through the Alabama forests and 
swamps. The enlisted men had been defin- 
itely divided into cannoneers, drivers, special 
duty men and Battery Commander's Detail, 
and were working for perfection in their 
specific duties. We all had been taught the 
intricacies of the American 3-inch field piece, 
which it was thought would be our weapon in 
Europe. We had begun to realize that the 
middle — we hoped, the first quarter — of 1918 
would find us in France, and the thought was 
an incentive to serious effort. The very evi- 
dent success of the German arms caused us to 

41 



FIRST FIRING. 



work still harder for "a chance before it was 
too late." 

January 3rd, 1918, fifty gunners from 
*'A" went to the range to see and hear, for 
the first time, a battery of the 134th guns in 
action. The rest of us soon followed for pur- 
poses of observation, and, with our drill 
books still open, of criticism. We saw that 
the gap between us and "The Veteran 134th 
from the Border" was fast closing. 

March 1st, 1918, according to the Record 
of Events in the "A" morning reports, our 
battery fired its first trial problems at the 
range, with results that exceeded all expecta- 
tions. The range, five miles from camp, was 
just a characteristic fiat stretch of Alabama 
farm land and woods, dotted here and there 
with the huts of dusky squatters who had 
been warned to move but didn't. The din of 
the first unheralded salvos and the whining 
screech of the shells that hurtled over their 
dwellings, drove them terrified under their 
beds, while a few of the more courageous 
souls dropped to their knees and begged the 
Almighty for just one more chance. But 
doom did not crack. The expected chunks of 
42 



ORIGIN OF THE "SHIMMY." 

sky and loose planets did not fall. When 
finally they discovered that the thunderous 
phenomena was merely "dem white boys wid 
de engines of woah" they soon forgot their 
repentance and resumed the luxurious leisure 
of their laborless lives. With these "Yanks 
from de Noth" came vast wealth to that range 
area. For a nickle tossed from our horses as 
we trailed past to our gun-positions, little 
Kinky Topsies, and even their mammies when 
art lured, did vampire "shimmees" by the 
roadside, which called for movements of 
neither feet nor head. 



The last four months of our Sheridan 
days proved the reward for which we had 
endured the grind of previous training. 
From March to June, in all varieties of 
weather and at all hours of the night and day 
we fought battles and campaigns on the 
range, pulverizing "enemy" trenches, smash- 
ing to bits Hun observation posts we had 
erected the day before, laying miles of wire, 
sneaking up, retreating, digging-in, camou- 
flaging, caring for our "wounded", executing 
43 



REALISTIC PRACTICE. 

night and day attacks with the infantry, 
medics, machine gunners and engineers of 
the Division, and occasionally getting "wiped 
out" by "enemy" fire — all with a realism 
that caused us to forget the mud, the heat, 
the sweat, and the wearing labor of it. When 
we were not at the range, we were galloping- 
cross-country over the closer environs of 
camp, selecting positions and placing our 
guns. Or (not so gloriously) we were diving 
in and out of gas masks which, since April 
9th, had become a daily affliction. 

To our range, gas-drill and maneuvering 
activities May added pistol drill with the 
regulation Colt .38 revolver, a divisional re- 
view on the 7th, and "night hitches." The 
latter created keen rivalry among the bat- 
teries of the regiment. May 21st "A" made 
a record of 11 minutes and 52 seconds from 
the command to fall in in front of our tents 
to the moving out of the first section, com- 
pletely hitched and ready for business. All 
harnessing and saddling was done in the 
dark and in unbroken silence. On the 20th 
we took our "Psychological Examination" in 
the Coliseum, tying with a medical corps unit 
44 



SHERIDAN DIVERSIONS. 



for divisional honors. We were also given, 
on the 30th, a "neuro-psychic" test. If you 
giggled coyly when a high-brow medical offi- 
cial tickled your toes, you passed. 

The last four months at Sheridan also saw 
a growth of amusement places within camp 
bounds that curtailed the golden reapings of 
the 25 and 50 cent jitney bandits who used 
to bump us into town and ditches when we 
were on pleasure bent. Smilage Books, com- 
ing in ever-increasing quantity from home, 
admitted us to the division Coliseum where 
we saw shows of "Turn to the Right" and 
"Excuse Me" quality. The Redpath Tents 
accepted the same tickets for good vaudeville. 
In the Y. M. C. A. and K. of C. Halls there 
were nightly free movies and lectures. At 
the foot of the battalion street in our own 
regiment a play house had been erected, 
where the home talent of the 135th furnished 
original vaudeville, jazz music and boxing 
matches. A camp library of liberal capacity 
was established and freely patronized. Camp 
restaurants, pool rooms and canteens did a 
flourishing business around pay day and 
helped to while away the evening hours, when 

45 



PACKING UP. 



the M. P.'s were feeling good. Montgomery 
gradually began to rank second as an amuse- 
ment center for the northern soldiers. Uncle 
Sam was keeping his boys home o' nights. 

The half of June which we spent at Sher- 
idan was devoted entirely to the business of 
getting ready to pull stakes for France. On 
the first, whilst sweating comrades wiped 
their hob-nails on one anothers' clean under- 
wear, spread over the battery street for 
rolling up, we puzzled and haggled out the 
proper way of making a pack. The same day 
we had full-pack inspection, — the first of a 
long series of every type of that army afflic- 
tion that forty-odd centuries of military his- 
tory could devise, plus a few new ideas. June 
5th, 6th and 7th dozens of boxes were made 
and painted with the 37th Division and ar- 
tillery insignia. Saddles, harness, kitchen 
equipment, clothing, signalling property, 
tools, ropes, curry combs, brushes, stoves, 
canvas, mandolins, guitars, violins, ukeleles, 
and a lot of other things we have since for- 
gotten but cursed at the time, were oiled, sad- 
dle-soaped, sand-papered, polished, painted 
46 



FRIENDS MUST PART. 

and scrubbed preparatory to boxing which 
came on the day (and night) following. 

On the 9th we turned in, at the division 
remount station, the 159 bucket-hoofed quad- 
rupeds that we had coddled and manicured 
for six months. Since December 10th they 
or an olfactory trace of them had been with 
us every hour of our lives. No one "ducked" 
through the back of the tent to escape the 
final remount station detail. Yet it cannot 
be said that many of us had not formed 
strong attachments for our 1400 lb. "indi- 
vidual mounts," as was evidenced by many a 
heated argument against a tent full of adver- 
saries, who had also formed attachments. 
More than one fellow patted suspiciously long 
and tenderly, a last time, the big velvety nose 
that had learned to rummage its master's 
pockets for hidden delicacies saved out of 
our own mess kits. Returning from the re- 
mount station, we worked late into the night 
loading all our freight on railroad cars. 



47 



LOSSES AND GAINS. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



fi 



ROM the very first week of our Sheri- 
dan days the unusually high personnel 
of the Battery became subject to con- 
stant losses. These were mainly to supply 
the needs of other organizations, many in 
our own regiment. A considerable number 
attended officers' training schools or were 
commissioned from the ranks. Many were 
transferred as interpreters, mechanicians 
and railway engineers to other camps. So 
that June 9th found us lacking 40 of the 195 
who left Cleveland with us, and far below 
war strength. As a result, June 11th oc- 
curred "The Advent of the Forty-five." 

For the most part "The Forty-five" were 
a crowd of plain, hard-working farmer 
boys from the fields of Kentucky and Indi- 
ana, who had been but a short time in the 
National Army. We accepted them with a 
suspicion at first, born of an esprit de corps 
that marked every new man as a sort of in- 
48 



"GETTING OUT" AGAIN. 

truder. In the privacy of our tents we re- 
sented being ordered to fall in and to receive 
them with cheers as they marched, strain- 
ing under heavy packs, down the Battery 
street. But they proved to be "good sports" 
the very first night, when, as is the hallowed 
custom with recruits in mounted units, they 
were solemnly "measured for saddles" in the 
orthodox manner with black paint and bar- 
rel-staves. In less time than we expected, 
the sincerity of their ways had won a place 
in the Battery and in our hearts. They were 
an indispensable part of us through all the 
hard days. From "The Forty-five" developed 
some of the best soldiers and the best friends 
we had. 

June 11th we passed in brigade review 
with full pack before the Commanding Gen- 
eral. And on the 16th at 10:45 A. M. we 
once more "got out of there," leaving the best 
camp and the happiest days of our army life 
behind. We rode in day coaches, three men 
to two seats — and complained ! Had we but 
foreseen the runty box cars of fair France! 

49 



CAMP UPTON. 



At 8:30 P. M. of the 18th we reached 
CAMP UPTON, LONG ISLAND, isolated by 
miles of bleak, dry land dotted with monoto- 
nous pine groves. It was the northern type of 
camp, with large, unpainted two-story bar- 
racks that had none of the snugness of our 
Sheridan tents. The eight days here were 
consumed by final issues of clothing, includ- 
ing our "tin derbies", inspections, and gas 
drill. All of us, anticipative of wholesale 
passes to New York, crowded the camp tele- 
graph office to wire home for money to "see 
Broadway"; but only a lucky few who had 
relatives, real or temporary, got to go. The 
less fortunate bulk spent their money for 
high-grade shows that left the glimmer of 
Broadway houses a night or two to do pa- 
triotic service, or in the great departmental 
canteen and restaurant of the camp. On 
the day of the eighth we became the guests 
of the Captain, motoring eighteen miles and 
sailing four to reach a small island in the 
bay, — a sort of balm for the Gotham passes 
that he couldn't get for us. 

At 9 :00 A. M. of the 27th, in the presence 
of many relatives from Cleveland who had 
50 



UP THE GANG-PLANK. 



come for yet another leave-taking, we fell in 
outside our barracks. At 12 :00 noon we 
were aboard a ferry steaming along East 
River, searching tensely between great docks 
for the ocean liner that was to take us to that 
vague, faraway, uncertain "Somewhere in 
France". At 3:30 we espied "our" ship, 
grimly fantastic to the tips of her masts with 
a score of bright colors that seemed to have 
been slapped on by a madman. High on her 
stern was a six-inch submarine gun, painted 
sky-blue. At 4:00 we were aboard "Trans- 
port 596" — in peace times known as the 
"S. S. Hororata of Plymouth, England." 
She was somewhat over 500 feet long and, 
according to her British crew was built for 
an immigrant ship. Since the outbreak of 
the war she had done transport work, first 
for Australian, then American troops. There 
were 2,000 of us on board, including the en- 
tire 135th. 

The rest of the evening was spent in "get- 
ting set" below deck and in forming an 
acquaintance with the English seamen, who 
were bloody well willing to chat with us. 
51 



FAREWELL. AMERICA! 

We also addressed cards home announcing 
our safe arrival in Europe. 

The morning of June 28th broke clear and 
brilliant, and found us all on deck. At 7 :00 
the ship began to quiver with engine throbs 
and we slipped our last bonds to the Amer- 
ican shore. We cheered when those ropes 
dropped away — cheered because we did not 
know what else to do or say. An hour later, 
radiant in the morning sun, with Liberty 
holding aloft her torch as if to give a final 
promise and to exact a final pledge, our be- 
loved America slowly sank beneath the white- 
crested horizon. 



52 



HALIFAX. 



CHAPTER IX. 



I UR convoy was made up of 22 ocean 

I liners, all aglow with colors that gave 

^L^B them an air of hastening across the 
ocean to some gigantic carnival of joy and 
merry-making. But the high-mounted guns 
and the speedy dirigible that probed the 
Atlantic depths ahead of us did not jibe with 
that bizarre suggestion. Blended indistin- 
guishably with the colors of their ships, each 
throng gazing half charmed across the ocean 
spaces at the others, were 40,000 husky 
Yanks that the Kaiser could not stop and 
never did stop, on land or sea. 

But we were not to be long with our 
original convoy. Gradually our companion 
ships forged ahead, leaving us in a solitude 
which the war dangers accentuated. July 
1st, due, the crew said, to inferior fuel, we 
steamed into the melancholy gloom of Hali- 
fax harbor, Canada, where we were to await 
the formation of a slower convoy. A little 
53 



THE GOOD SHIP "HORORATA." 

tug with a hysterical siren nosed up to us 
inquiringly, then sent a complaining mes- 
sage of our intrusion to listeners on the shore. 

Until July 4th we lay idle in the harbor 
mists, waking each morning to distinguish 
newly arrival vessels that were to accompany 
us. In the late afternoon with 14 trans- 
ports, a British battleship, and a "mystery 
ship" of the same nationality that hung 
back in the rear, we started the real journey 
across the vast expanse of desolate blue. 

Of our life on the good ship Hororata of 
Plymouth, a plainspoken comrade has writ- 
ten an account which it is far from our 
hopes to surpass or to modify. We print it, 
exactly as presented to us by the author : 
* * * 

The trip across the Atlantic and some ex- 
periences as seen by a private. 

We sailedfrom New York June 28th 1918 
and come over by way of Halifax and h — 1 
knows where else. I don't think the captain 
of the ship knew anyway we landed at Liver- 
pool July 15th suppose the same year for 
most of us on board had forgotten the day 
of the week and the month of the year. 
54 



SEA FOODS. 



I think our safety on the voyage was due 
to the slow speed of the ship for no Sub- 
marine commander would have ever wasted 
the time waiting for the convoy we came over 
with, and if they did they undoubtly had to 
return to their base for supplies, and that 
way the long expected Horrotta escaped be- 
fore their return. One thing that made the 
trip more plesant not saying anything of the 
eighteen long days on board was what we 
had to eat. 

There was plenty of food on board to feed 
the whole American Armey but d — m the 
kind and if no other outfit eat anymore then 
we did there is some left yet. 

we had several differnt kinds of food such 
as slum stew peas rare and you did not have 
to eat them to know they were raw just put 
them in your messkit you could lell by the 
sound. 

we allso had a new kind of food too the 
average man known as beef tripe and one 
thing that made bad matters worse was the 
English style of cooking take it from me that 
tripe when it was cooked looked like honey- 
comb floating around in a basin of butter- 
55 



THE LONG, LONG TRAIL. 

milk. After each meal all a sub would had 
to do was just follow the floating tripe even 
as dum a thing as a fish seemed to know as 
mush as we did they would not eat it the 
fish they served was well imbomed and to be 
on the square one of the helper in the kitchen 
that seemed to like the american soldier pret- 
ty well told me that the fish we were eating 
was condemned in Sydney Australia by in- 
spectors, there was my chance I told him 
you mean the fish you are serveing for no one 
on board is eating it. we dont claim to be 
food inspectors but we know enough to con- 
dem that fish. 

the Horse meat was not so bad in my 
oppinion nothing we had in the eating line 
had died a natural death. 

the Soldiers worse enemy cornwilley and 
cheese was our desert on the trip and about 
all that keept soul and body to gather. 

Tea the English favorite was plentifull 
they served it with every meal even washed 
your messkit in tea if you taken a hot bath 
it was tea then. 

having traveled arount quite a bit 1 
thought I had a record for all kinds of sleep- 
56 



HAMMOCKS. 



ing quators I have slept in box cars under a 
tree in bed under the bed and some times 
when I take one cognac to many sleep under 
the house 

but I never slept hung to the ceiling like 
a country ham untill I got on the Horrotta 
our beds were in form of a hammack and 
hung very close to the ceiling by means of 
hooks. 

and one thing that added to our comp- 
fort you had to wear your life belt day and 
night and there was a hump on your back 
like a drummy deer and if done any sleep- 
ing you had to do it on your back for the 
hammocks hung so close togather if you had 
to get up dureing the night you would wake 
up every on the deck that you were sleeping 
on, 

after the first day out from New York I 
noticed several fellows leaning over the deck 
rail in great agony it seemed they were try- 
ing to turn inside out. I ask them their trou- 
ble the usual answer sea sick. 

I have a different reason for what I seen 
on the ship to eat would make you sick on 
dry land I am a firm believer in the old say- 
57 



COOKS. 

ing ever dog has his day Guess I had mine 
when I was a pup just think of eighteen days 
of that bravery Made me think of what Gen- 
eral Sherman said about war 

You would go to bed hang to the ceiling 
all night and get up in the morning see the 
same surroundings could not tell if you were 
getting any nearer land or not and no one 
seemed to know. 

one morning I noticed a fellow that had 
worked all the way over in the Kitchen and 
wore the same uniform a grass sack apron 
had not even had a shave or washed his face 
and hands if he did you could not tell it by 
looking at him he come out all dressed up 
clean shirt trousers and shaven I said to 
some of the boys look at the cook we are 
either going to land today or be Torpedoed 

In just a short time you could see land 
well as the tugs is towing us in to Liverpool 
and paying all due respects to the English I 
like them but I would tell King George I have 
got no use for those d — m cooks 

This trip is the only place in the armey 
where officers and non coms had nothing on 

58 



"SUB INCIDENT." 



a buck private when their turn come they 
had to feed the fish to 



Our comrade has covered the points of 
the trip across with commendable thorough- 
ness, excepting, perhaps, in one detail. He 
failed to mention our "Sub Incident" in the 
Irish Sea. 

Upon our entrance into those infested 
waters, the guard of our convoy was 
strengthened by four swift torpedo boat de- 
stroyers and a mine-sweeper, all flying the 
incomparable Stars and Stripes. These lit- 
erally raced circles around us, swerving and 
careening with the grace of sea gulls as they 
darted to and fro searching for a lurking 
enemy. On the stern deck of each, ready to 
be rolled into the sea, were a dozen of the 
"ash cans" that had been the doom of many 
a submarine. Quick-firers bristled on the 
narrow decks for a type of fair fighting that 
the Germans never relished. But no "subs" 
had been sighted or even rumored in the 
vicinity. 

Shortly after evening mess on the 13th, 
59 



DEAD RAT. 

however, when the majority of us were still 
below deck, there occurred a series of terrific 
concussions that shook our ship from bow to 
stern, then seemed to lift her from the water. 
This was accompanied by a hollow, clank- 
ing sound, as of some giant smashing in the 
ships steel plates with a great sledge. We 
obeyed orders to ascend quietly to the deck, 
tightening our life belts as we went and fully 
expecting to taste salt water. But the Horo- 
rata did not list. Instead, a petty officer of 
the ship, glasses in hand, pointed across the 
water behind us. "Ash cans," he said. 
"They've discovered something." We looked 
across the blue. Two, perhaps three, miles 
to the rear our little Yank destroyers were 
circling around a certain spot like excited 
terriers after a rat. Now and then they 
"barked" with the depth bombs that had 
shaken our ship when the disturbance was 
nearer. 

The hunt lasted in all about fifteen min- 
utes. Then the cocky destroyers returned, 
flying signals that we could not understand. 
They had "caught a rat." Later on, in port, 
we learned the rest of the story. The sub- 
60 



"LOYAL OLD SPORT." 

marine had maneuvered for a position in the 
center of the "horseshoe" that our transports 
formed; but it came to grief by coming up 
under a transport, causing the collision which 
betrayed its presence and led to its doom. 
The damaged ship made port safely and 
"like a loyal old sport," did not "settle down" 
until its precious burden of fighters was 
securely deposited on shore. But it has never 
been learned whether the U-boat followed a 
trail of tripe or not. 



61 



LAND! 



CHAPTER X. 



I UR first glimpse of Europe showed a 

flat, uninteresting shore that faded 

^^i and reappeared through an early 
morning fog. It brought our memories back 
in vivid contrast to the glorious blaze of sun 
which gave us our last view of the New York 
skyline. But we were happy that chilly 
morning of July 15th to again see land of any 
sort ; and the realization that we were near 
Europe, rich in ruins and historic tradition, 
and at present the scene of greatest history 
in the making, gave us pleasant thrills. When 
the curtain of mists lifted we were entering, 
as did the adventurers of bygone ages, the 
Mersey River on our way to ancient LIVER- 
POOL, ENGLAND. 

We were warmly received from the first. 

Ferries and sturdy little red tugs carrying 

laborers to work tooted welcomes as they 

puffed across our path, while the workmen 

62 



GREETINGS. 



waved their dingy hats in well-wishing. 
Buxom housewives, preparing breakfast, in- 
terrupted their duties to wave aprons and 
kerchiefs over their porch railings, being fre- 
quently joined by a scurrying brood. A 
quaint little old woman in a white apron and 
bonnet did an equally quaint little folk dance 
on the cobblestones of her dooryard — then 
threw us kisses. All these greetings we re- 
turned with clamorous cheers and a few 
words in British brogue taught us by our 
English crew. 

In two hours we were moored against 
one of the great stone wharves of Liverpooi, 
where we waited on board the remainder of 
the afternoon. Against her dock the Hororato 
and her companion ships once more assumed 
the gigantic proportions that they had lost 
in the stretches of mid-ocean, where there 
were no contrasts save the one oppressive 
realization of our pigmy size. As we waited 
we amused ourselves by tossing American 
pennies to a gang of dirty-faced street 
urchins who fought for them on the pier and 
emitted showers of English cuss-words far 
beyond their years. A little woman with a 
63 



THE QUEER WORLD. 

big basket on her arm lobbed two oranges 
"for a shillin' " over the side of the ship. 

"How much is a shilling?" we queried. 

"One twentieth o' th' pound sterling, 
sirs," came the enlightening response. We 
threw down American quarters which se- 
cured us three oranges. Misdirected fruit 
and coins found a watery grave between ship 
and wharf. 

At six o'clock we walked down the gang- 
plank to dear old terra firma again, but of 
another continent. A rain began to fall as 
we lined up close by for roll call. In columns 
of four, after eighteen days of confinement, 
we swung into a lively cadence for the "rest 
camp" at Knotty Ash. 

We did not fail to take in at once the 
"sights" that our English cousins and their 
streets afforded us. A "tramway" carrying a 
gorgeously uniformed individual who proved 
to be none other than the motorman, turned 
our attention to English signs. Across the 
street we espied an "Ale House" where good 
old "light" and "stout" could be had. Next 
to it, announced on a plate glass front, was a 
"Gentlemen's Hairdressing Parlor," while 
64 



ENGLISH LASSIES. 



Thomas Watkins, opposite, was a "Keeper 
of Cows" and offered the lactic products of 
his charges for sale. 

Reaching a residential part of town, we 
"sized up" the English lassies who had 
appeared in windows and on doorsteps 
to see us pass. They surely possessed 
the "roses in their cheeks" that the Island 
bards have sung about. But to us those 
roses were too red. We preferred the deli- 
cate pink of the girls at home with all the 
differences that the contrast suggests. The 
mothers and fathers of the lassies waved 
hospitably to us, while their young brothers 
lined the way and begged for pennies. They 
were all of the poorer class. When they 
smiled they revealed almost without excep- 
tion a pitiful need of dentistry. We smiled 
also, through the rain. "Look at them 
smile !" was a comment that often reached 
our ears. But the able-bodied youth and 
young manhood of the town were nowhere 
present. They were "holding" across the 
Channel until the Yanks arrived. Those 
who had returned had done their bit. We 

65 



CAMP KNOTTY ASH. 

saw many a poor fellow along the way with 
empty sleeves and breeches legs, but only the 
gamest among them could smile. 

The end of five miles found us wet and 
fatigued at our KNOTTY ASH ''rest camp" 
on the outskirts of Liverpool. Here we were 
"sheltered" in small round tents of a thick- 
ness and state of repair that gave the rain 
and wind easy access. The floors were cov- 
ered with wet mattresses of straw onto which 
we threw our wet packs. After a scant mess 
of coffee, bread, jam and beans, we spread 
the dryest of our equipment on the mattres- 
ses, perhaps spoke softly of home to a pal, 
and fell asleep. 



66 



CROSSING ENGLAND. 



CHAPTER XI. 



X 



N the sunshine of the next morning we 
hung out our blankets and extra cloth- 
ing. That which we wore was drying, 
as it so often did in the future, on our backs. 
This attended to, we found a weak spot in the 
camp guard, leapt a wall and gained a prac- 
tical knowledge of English currency in pastry 
shops and ale houses — paying well, no doubt, 
for the' instruction. At 4:00 P. M. after a 
two-mile hike, we were on an English 3rd 
class train bound for a channel port. There 
wTre eight of us to a compartment. Each 
compartment contained red-letter warnings 
of spies and instructions to draw all cur- 
tains when passing through towns. A ser- 
vant of His Majesty passed each of us a 
printed greeting and wishes of success from 
the King and Queen. 

Until dark we drank in the quaint poetic 
scenes of "Merrie England." They were all 

67 



WINCHESTER. 



that our books, our songs and our artists 
had tried to portray to us — and more. We 
would like to dwell on the charming pano- 
rama that nature unrolled for us that after- 
noon — the trim hedges, the garden walls, 
the pebbled paths, the fresh green hills 
and vales, the thatched roofs, the ancient 
battlements, long crumbled, with a setting- 
sun reflecting their former glory, the noble 
estates with their parks and pools and 
swans. There was something so miniature 
and toy-like to it all when compared with our 
vast and majestic sweeps of American farm 
land. But we were hurrying to France. Al- 
ready the spires of famous Oxford had come 
and gone in the blue-gray of fast approaching 
night. 

At 1:00 A. M. we were awakened from 
the doze into which we had fallen, to detrain. 
We had crossed England diagonally and were 
in WINCHESTER, near the Channel. Full- 
pack we toiled uphill under a starless sky, 
through utter blackness. Not so much as a 
ray of light filtered from a single window to 
the inky streets of the ghostly city. Our 
steel-shod feet reverberated hollowly on the 



CAMP WINNAL DOWN. 

cobblestones against what we took to be the 
walls of houses on either side of us. Now 
and then a window was raised and some 
white-clad form peered from darkness into 
darkness at the procession which had broken 
his slumber. Each of us guided his steps by 
the sounds from the man ahead of him. 
When the head of the long column suddenly- 
slacked its pace, as it repeatedly did, the 
rear, groping and burdened, jammed itself 
into a mass of sweating soldiers who swore 
or laughed as the mood struck them. Not a 
star twinkled, not a street lamp gleamed, not 
a chink in a door betrayed a glimmer of light 
or life, not a cigarette glowed. Winchester 
was shuttered, muffled, lifeless — playing pos- 
sum to escape the Hun marauders of the air. 
Two hours brought us to Camp WINNAL 
DOWN. The place was worthier than Knot- 
ty Ash of the name "rest camp." In wooden 
barracks we laid rows of slats across two 
pieces that kept us from the floor, secured 
mattresses of straw, and slept soundly with 
no disturbing reveille. At 8:00 A. M. of the 
18th we left Winnal Down on the hilltop and 
marched back to the Winchester station. We 
69 



SOUTHAMPTON. 



wondered as we descended how we ever 
"made" the grade the previous morning. 
Winchester had come to hfe. From shutters 
and doors, now open, the erstwhile ghost city 
waved us greetings. 

It was but a short ride to SOUTHAMP- 
TON from which we were to cross to France. 
In one of the great dock buildings of that 
channel port we waited the balance of the day 
for our boat. Here we had our first oppor- 
tunity to chat with the famous English Tom- 
my and his Canadian and Australian allies 
on furlough from the front. The average 
Tommy was obviously war-weary, liberal 
with neither optimism nor smiles, and a bit 
reserved. "How is it going across the Chan- 
nel, Tommy?" we asked. 

"It's a damned affair — we may be able to 
hold them, but we can't win," seemed the con- 
census of opinion. Beyond this, the English- 
men did not seem willing to talk. The Cana- 
dians and Australians had another reply. 
They were fine, cordial fellows with whom 
we fraternized at once. 

"They're giving us hell now all right — 
but when a million or two of you fellows get 
70 



THE "PRINCE GEORGE." 

into the line with us, it'll be our turn until 
the end of the war," was the Canadian and 
Australian viewpoint. "What part of the 
States do you come from?" "When did you 
get over?" and similar queries soon brought 
us together in friendly groups. 

At 7:00 P. M. we wedged ourselves on 
board the Prince George. It was a narrow, 
speedy vessel, never intended to accom- 
modate half the men who were herded 
aboard. As a result, we began one of the 
most memorable nights of our army lives. 
Every inch of deck and cabin floor was soon 
strewn with prone and sitting men who tried 
in vain to stretch themselves for a night's 
rest. Massed on the stairs, choking the pas- 
sage-ways, huddled on top of, around and 
under every fixture in the lavatories, every 
post, every wall, every railing, either suifo- 
cating inside from the heat of our own breath 
or chilled to the bone on the cold steel decks, 
were intertangled legs, arms and bodies. 
Guard reliefs, changing their posts in utter 
darkness, tried for a time stepping ov^r 
prostrate comrades, then grew desperate 
and walked on a human carpet that cursed 
71 



"BOCHE — COMME CA!" 

them roundly. At last came the welcome 
light of day. Gritty with soot, dishevelled, 
hungry, we crowded the rails and gazed at 
the cliff that marks the harbor of HAVRE, 
FRANCE — France who had cried across the 
ocean for help, France the world's battlefield 
on which we were to fight how hard, how 
long we did not know. But we did know 
that we would never leave those nearing 
shores until we won. 



After a breakfast of black coffee and 
hard-tack, we began the march through 
Havre. Our first impression of the French 
was furnished by a thick-set elderly woman 
of the peasant class early on her way to work. 
She was very happy to see us and spoke a 
greeting of which we recognized only the 
word "American." Then, raising a husky 
arm, she grabbed the throat of an imaginary 
foe, her face distorted with intense hate. 
With a heavy cane held in the right hand 
she bayoneted her victim repeatedly in vivid 
pantomine and cast his corpse aside. "Ah, 

n 



SOUTH CAMP. HAVRE. 



Boche, Boche! — finis Boche! — comme ca!" 
she said, and hurried on her way. The 
months that we were in France never furn- 
ished us a more typical example of the 
French temperament. 

Our march took us through a poorer 
section of Havre. The streets were narrow, 
with tenement buildings and small stores on 
either side. From the cobblestones arose 
the musty smell of an ill-kept tenement 
district. Droves of poorly-clad children beg- 
ged us for money and for the dates and 
chocolate we bought of street-vendors. We 
"came across". They seemed to need it. 
Their parents, carelessly dressed or half- 
dressed in bright-hued garments, excitedly 
chattered a strange jargon that was unde- 
cided whether to come through the mouth or 
the nose. , As in Liverpool, there were no 
young men around. 

For an hour we strained upward along a 
road that brought us to the top of the cliff we 
had seen from the Prince George. Far be- 
low were a toy city, a toy harbor and toy 
boats. At SOUTH CAMP we rested 35 
73 



"HOMMES 40— CHEVAUX 8." 

hours, many of us sleeping in "pup tents." 
Here we saw the first Hun prisoners. 
Through the stillness of the night we heard 
for the first time the thud of heavy guns in 
distant battle. 

An hour before midnight on July 20th we 
were again marching through Havre. Like 
Winchester, the city was in total darkness. 

In a small depot we were formally intro- 
duced to the famous "Hommes 40 — Chevaux 
8" that no Allied soldier who has been in 
France can ever forget. Thirty-five of us in- 
stead of the orthodox forty were assigned to 
each car, in order to afford us plenty of room 
for athletic games and other amusements. 
Each car was equipped with four perfectly 
good square wheels so adjusted that the corn- 
ers struck simultaneously. There were many 
indications that "Chevaux 8" had been our 
very recent predecessors. 

At 1 :00 o'clock the engineer commenced 
to crack the whip in a southerly direction, 
while the rest of the train followed mer- 
rily in hops about a yard long. We mar- 
velled at his success, considering the speed 
he was making. Slowing down from 
74 



"SERVICE DE LUXE." 

15 miles an hour he could produce all the 
effects of a dead stop from 90 against a gran- 
ite cliff. This illusion he produced on an 
average of four times an hour to sidetrack 
for other trains that had the right of way. 

Once accustomed to the leaping motion of 
our cars, we evolved a system of sleeping. 
By mutual agreement we all lay down cross- 
wise on the floor, alternating head and feet 
along either wall. No fellow was permitted 
to rest his feet elsewhere than on the chest of 
the comrade across from him, and no man, 
unless he wanted to oblige a particular 
friend, was compelled to support more than 
one pair of feet throughout the night. Thus 
we spent two nights and two days, nourish- 
ing ourselves occasionally with corn-beef, 
salmon, beans, canned tomatoes, hard-tack 
and black coffee, which menu, largely due to 
its delightful associations with our first and 
subsequent railroad trips in France, we 
learned thoroughly to detest forevermore. 

At five o'clock on the afternoon of the 

22nd we passed through BORDEAUX, and 

at six we detrained, cramped, unshaven, 

head-achy, in VILLEAVE, the end of the line. 

75 



EUROPEAN SPEED. 



During the trip some of us had become food, 
drink and shelter for little guests that pro- 
mulgated their hardy species for the re- 
mainder of our European sojourn. In 41 
hours we had travelled 320 miles as the crow 
flies — an average clip of 7.8 miles per hour. 
How far it was as "Hommes 40 — Chevaux 
8's" go, the world of science is hereby chal- 
lenged to calculate. 



76 



"FAIR FRANCE." 



CHAPTER XII. 



© 



HE landscape of France, which we took 
turns viewing through the door on 
either side of our "Puhmans/' was 
not unlike England, It gave to us Americans 
the same impression of being toy-like and 
miniature — more like gardens than farms. 
Each of the tiny cultivated plots that covered 
the fresh hillsides was divided from its neigh- 
bor by well cut hedges or ancient stone walls, 
presenting, in distant prospect, a checkerwork 
of various greens that was fascinating and 
novel. Larger divisions of vale and hill were 
defined by writhing trunks that had been 
shorn of all their dead superstructure in a 
last effort to prolong a spark of life at the 
heart. What remained was gnarled and fan- 
tastic, as though Nature resented the preven- 
tion of death that was due. From the twisted 
cores freakish growths of first year twigs 
sprang forth, like hairs on giant mush- 
rooms or some strange type transplanted 
11 



V I L L E A V E. 



from the ocean depths. Setting off in artistic 
contrast these stubby growths were double 
rows of poplar trees in slim vertical sil- 
houette against the blue of the summer skies. 
The roads they traced stretched along the 
hillsides like snow-white ribbons criss-cross- 
ing on green silk. At the intersections of 
the strands were clusters of antique dwell- 
ings, ever of cream-colored stone and red tile 
roof, ever surmounted by an invariable spire, 
and ever with immemorial walls and ruins. 
We wondered at the great number of those 
hillside towns that housed the peasant class 
of France. It seemed as though some mighty 
hand of bygone years had sown them, thick 
as grain, among the furrows of the hills, from 
which the tile roofs sprang like bright red 
poppies on the rolling green. 



The night in Villeave we spent on the 
ground near the tiny station. It was here 
that many of us first tasted the meal-time 
drink of all France — vin rouge. We bought 
it with eager stealth around the kitchen table 
of a peasant home at two francs a canteen- 
78 



CHATEAU COUDERAN. 



ful. The little houswife racked her brains 
changing our American money, while her 
tainted spouse made hurried trips from his 
basement barrel to the well behind the house. 

At 6 :30 A. M. the entire 135th started a 
12-mile march with full pack to what our 
officers promised were the "best billets in 
France." "Soft" as we were from our long 
ocean trip and our railroading, it proved a 
hard, bitter hike. For those of us w^ho had 
filled our canteens with vin rouge instead of 
water it was doubly hard. But we "stuck it 
through." Headed by our regimental band 
in full blast, sore shoulders thrown back, 
we swung into the pretty village of LEOG- 
NAN, where the bulk of the regiment fell 
out for billets. "A" and "B" kept the road 
forty minutes longer, until 10:30, when we 
slid off our hot packs inside the walled court- 
yard of the CHATEAU COUDERAN. 

The Chateau Couderan was not without 
its war tragedy. It was owned by two or- 
phaned sisters whose only brother had long 
since offered the supreme gift. Of the male 
servants all but an aged gardner were wear- 
ing the blue uniform. Many would never re- 
79 



FRENCH PAY DAY. 



turn. But the Chateau still had its deer park, 
aviaries, swans, lawns and its cool vistas of 
trees. For the enlisted men all this was a 
sort of Inner Temple, too sacred for the in- 
fidel touch. But the Captain threw the gates 
ajar one day and let us in. The "A" billets 
were in a large modern cow stable off the 
courtyard. Where the former pedigreed bov~ 
ines had gone we knew not. There were no 
traces of them save two rows of poetic 
names above the stalls that well might have 
belonged to Grecian goddesses. Yet, immac- 
ulate and dry as our quarters were, we ques- 
tioned the "best billets" epithet our officers 
had given the place. Oh quick tongue ! Could 
we have foreseen ! Could we have foreseen ! 
On the 26th at the Chateau Couderan we 
had our first pay in French currency. Each 
of us received one mustard plaster, two blue 
tobacco coupons, six tomato can labels and a 
handful of Chinese slugs, with which we im- 
mediately made incursions into wine-soaked 
Leognan, and even Bordeaux. At Bordeaux 
we purchased libraries of English-French 
dictionaries and grammars, into which we 
forthwith plunged with a linguistic fervor 
80 



VISIONS. 



entirely too furious to be lasting. July 30th, 
with fingers that trembled queerly, we op- 
ened our first mail from home — most of it 
dated a month before. The same night, pass- 
ing through the vision-filled borderland of 
sleep, we sat again in familiar old chairs, 
heard soft voices, and felt the touch of hands 
four thousand miles away. 



81 



25 MILES FULL-PACK. 




CHAPTER XIII. 



I HE restful days at Couderan came to 
an end on the morning of Julj^ 31st. 
Arising at 4:00 o'clock we made our 
rolls in the dark and at 5:30, after a break- 
fast of black coffee, bread, molasses and rice, 
we began a 25-mile full-pack march to our 
artillery training camp. 

It was a day, hot, dusty, sultry, that no 
"A" man will ever forget. Already before 
noon soldiers of batteries ahead of us had 
dropped by the roadside on their packs, 
furnishing a suggestion to those who plod- 
ded past that was hard to resist. As the 
afternoon wore on we became aware from 
men who lay along the way that "A" was the 
only battery still intact. The information put 
new strength in our legs. Every "A" man 
set his jaw to "show up" the rest of the regi- 
ment and to march until he dropped. 

The last two hours "were done on sheer 
82 



THE LAST MILES. 



guts" by most of us. Our canteens were 
empty under a sun that still beat down. Our 
feet were blistering and the packs were 
galling our shoulders. The Captain, him- 
self on foot, passed along the column encour- 
aging us and inviting men to fall out and 
ride in trucks that were to pick up the cas- 
uals. But he had no tired men! When we 
unslung packs for a ten minute rest we won- 
dered if we could rise again to put them on. 
A comrade began to topple. Two friends 
seized his pack and carried it in addition to 
their own. He finished the march with an 
arm around the necks of pals on either side 
of him. To cheer his comrades some fellow 
with parched lips tried to sing, but no one 
joined in and few heard. The gate which we 
had seen for a mile and to which we had 
measured our wills, did not give us the ex- 
pected relief. We trudged through over new- 
laid broken rocks that turned our ankles and 
made us stumble blindly. Many times we 
gauged the distance of empty barracks, but 
only to be bitterly disappointed. But at last, 
as we shuffled past a group of officers, we 
heard the Colonel say in a voice that seemed 

83 



"THE LITTLE SAHARA." 



far away, "Well, I guess they're soldiers all 
right. Fall them out here, Captain." It was 
reward enough, and out of the dust into 
which we dropped that moment, arose full 
grown, the Esprit de Corps of Battery "A''. 
We were permitted to rest on our packs for a 
half hour where we had fallen out. Then, 
after a meal of beef stew, coffee and bread, 
we were assigned to our bunks in the red 
tile barracks of CAMP DE SOUGE, near 
Bordeaux. 

Camp De Souge, we soon found, was very 
fittingly called "The Little Sahara." It had 
a late-summer sun that shone down every day 
in true Sahara form. Everywhere there was 
sand — black, fine stuff that rose above our 
ankles, filtered into our shoes and exacted 
double the amount of energy for ordinary 
walking. This the wind sifted through the 
chinks in our doors and cheese-cloth windows, 
filming bunks, blankets, and mess-tables with 
grit. The water supply was scant at all times. 
It ran but a few hours each day through 
tiny faucets fitfully emitting a puny three- 
sixteenths inch stream. Returning from long 
marches that enveloped our sweating bodies 
84 



" O A S I S." 

in clouds of black dust, we often found no 
water with which to wash. Flies increased 
so rapidly that the "Swatting Detail" became 
as regular and more popular than guard 
duty. There were no shade trees for a mile 
around. 

Our only ''oases" were the camp Y. M. 
C. A. buildings and a cluster of peasant 
stands outside the gate, where near-beer and 
wines not so near were sold at double the 
cost of the real thing. Here, also, one could 
purchase dwarfed peaches, figs, dates, hazel- 
nuts, and good grapes at a price that only 
the "millionaire Yanks" could pay. In the 
name of art were proffered post-card views 
that would have shocked the Ohio Board of 
Censors out of business. They were the 
cheapest thing in France. 

On Sundays we frequently visited St. 
Medard, a little town eight miles distant and 
three times too wicked for its size. There 
"La Grande Attraction" was a barn musical 
show which we patronized in lieu of some- 
thing else to do. A moon-face "comedian" 
with gap-teeth did slapstick "comedy" ; a little 
slip of a woman sang and wanted to sell us her 

85 



"TERRIBLE INFANTS." 

picture; four characters-aboutrtown danced.. 
Across the street was a portable movie whose 
only billboard showed a hand sinking its long 
nails Jnto the bleeding neck of a green snake. 
In the cafes and restaurants of the town we 
bought scant meals, and, in the invariable 
back room, as much cognac as our francs or 
judgment allowed. , 



Our two months of training at De Souge 
were mainly concentrated on a speedy and in- 
timate acquaintance with the French 75 mm. 
field piece and more cordial relations with the 
U. S. gas-mask. Before August was half 
gone we had been issued our quartet of the 
"Terrible Infants" that caused the Kaiserin 
to buy her "Paris gowns" all for nothing and 
flooded the world with triumphal helmets 
that never saw the triumph. They were 
trim, quick mechanisms that fascinated us 
from the beginning. August 15th, with a 
laugh, a long diminishing sigh, and again, 
far away, another laugh, they "spoke" for 
us the first time. Almost every ensuing day 
found us in the 2-mile semi-circle of spitting 
86 



"GAS!" 

muzzles that vibrated the tile walls of our 
barracks and littered the arid wastes of the. 
range with hot steel. 

Of nights there were thunderous bar- 
rages. White-hot tongues darted from no- 
where. Against a black horizon rockets 
swept upward, ripening into gently swaying 
necklaces of green, red, or yellow fire. Be- 
^tween the muzzles and the horizon, in No 
Man's Land, blinked elusively a hundred 
signal "eyes" of red and white, like fire- 
beetles over a great marshland. 

Gas drill was not so picturesque. Its ob- 
ject was to accustom us to wearing the mask 
for long periods and under all conditions of 
rest and motion. Starting with a tortuous 
fifteen minutes per day without "Removing 
Masks", we gradually developed to two 
hours. Gas non-coms., invested with auto- 
cratic powers, put us through hundred yard 
dashes, ring-around-a-rosy games, hikes and 
details while our rubber face-pieces filled up 
with pouring sweat and the dimmed goggles 
shut off all knowledge of the topography over 
which we operated. At all hours of the night 
we were blasted out of deep slumber by 
87 



READY FOR FRITZ 



claxon horns, fiendish beatings on 75 mm. 
casings, cries of "Gas!" and a lot of addi- 
tional rumpus that meant there was deadly 
theoretical gas around. 

The spare hours intervening range and 
gas work were utilized for "specialist classes" 
in which every soldier studied the finer points 
of his particular job. Among these was a 
machine gunners' school. Selected men 
learned to operate two Hotchkiss guns that 
had been issued to each battery for anti-air- 
craft and emergency purposes. There were 
also many forest-fire details, formed at all 
hours to combat conflagrations started by 
exploding shells. 

The six-week course on the 75's ended 
with a brigade barrage on the morning of 
September 14th. About the 15th we were 
given our Colt .45 automatics and a few les- 
sons in their use. The remaining Souge days 
were devoted to packing up equipment, reduc- 
ing our wardrobes to active service scanti- 
ness and "getting set" for Fritz. We had 
completed eighteen months of the greatest 
schooling of our lives. But there were no 
graduation exercises. 



IN THE ZONE OF ADVANCE. 



W 



CHAPTER XIV. 

EDNESDAY, September 25th, reveille 
blew at 2:30 A. M. By 5:00 o'clock 
the last "quad" with our equipment 
had left De Souge for a railhead at BON- 
NE AU. And at 9:30, snugly tucked into 
box cars again, we were on our way to the 
front. For 72 hours we travelled north- 
east across France, finally detraining at 
REVIGNY, near the south-west border of 
the Department of the MEUSE. In this 
department, famous for Verdun and St. 
Mihiel, and MEURTHE ET MOSELLE, 
which borders it on the east and over- 
looks Metz, "A" was to do all its firing and 
maneuvering in active service. Our bil- 
lets were in NEUVILLE, 3iA miles from 
Revigny. Loading our packs on our caissons 
and pieces, we pulled them ourselves to 
Neuville, The few horses we received at 
De Souge were left behind. 

Neuville, jagged, half -dead, neglected, 
89 



N E U V I L L E. 



with an air about it of having lost all 
hope forever, was the first "war town" 
of our experience. Half of it was in ruins 
from artillery fire. Across the valley was 
Laimont, a sister-town, totally destroyed. 
The orchards between them, in spite of the 
season, bore no signs of yield. In the early 
days of the war the Germans had "doctored" 
all fruit trees before retreating. The edges 
of nearby groves were dotted with graves 
of French soldiers who had paid early the 
price of driving back the enemy armies. At 
the time of our occupancy the town was a 
French motor-repair base, where machine- 
shops on wheels renovated army trucks and 
motorcycles. With the French soldiers thus 
employed we fraternized freely in the kit- 
chen-cafes of the town, exchanging our 
greatly prized American cigarettes for prac- 
tical lessons in their language. They were a 
jovial, frank crowd that we soon learned to 
like. In Neuville most of us shared our sleep- 
ing quarters with cows, pigs and poultry. 
These were accustomed, as seems the vogue 
in the peasant towns, to roaming just about 
where they pleased in the household domains, 

90 



HOPES AND HORSES. 



and they contested with us to the end for the 
better half of the bed, which they were far 
better able to see in the dark than we. 

At Neuville we expected to receive im- 
mediately a quota of horses that would per- 
mit us to join the doughboys of our own Di- 
vision, whom we had always hoped to "back 
up." For a time it appeared this would prove 
the case. By October 4th we had accumu- 
lated 69 fair mounts. On the following day, 
however, with bitter disappointment, we 
were compelled to turn over to the 28th Di- 
vision all but 26. So that on the 7th we left 
Neuville for the firing line with 40 horses 
to do the work of the 160 of our Sheridan 
days! On the long list of tributes that the 
World War had paid its dumb animals, we 
enter a humble claim for those 40 courageous 
little animals, many of them the gassed and 
wounded veterans of previous battles, who 
labored night and day through the muds of 
France that the guns might continue to fire 
for the Cause. 



91 



CHAMPIGNEULLES. 



CHAPTER XV. 



o 



UR route to the firing-line was longer 
than we expected. At noon the bulk 
of the Battery started an 18-mile 
truck journey through the Argonne woods to 
VILLERS-DAUCOURT, where we awaited 
in the rain the arrival of our horses and 
materiel, including our priceless "cooky 
cart." When they joined us at 8:00 we 
loaded the pieces on flat-cars, put the regula- 
tion "Chevaux 8" in the alloted five cars, and 
again set on our way. We detrained the next 
morning at CHAMPIGNEULLES, Depart- 
ment of Meurthe et Moselle. The reserve 
trenches, dugouts and wire entanglements 
we saw during the last two hours of our ride, 
proved to us that we were at last "getting 
into it." 

Around the Champigneulles station we 

had our first contact with the funniest things 

in France — members of the 92nd (colored) 

Division. They donated liberally to us from 

92 



P O M P E Y. 

their kitchen, which had been set up beside 
the depot, and, grouped around a day-time 
campfire, solemnly argued on religion to 
depths we could not fathom. Though their 
discussion was too deep for us, a poignant 
connection between the topic and the trenches 
they were soon to occupy was evident enough. 
The darky at the front always remembered 
heaven when he suspected that it might be a 
trifle near. 

Waiting until darkness, we marched to 
POMPEY, two miles distant, where we were 
to assemble with the entire 62nd Brigade. 
A cold rain had begun to fall and we were 
soon thoroughly wet. Attaining Pompey, we 
crossed a bridge and made a sharp turn to 
the left. The wheels of our pieces instantly 
sank into mud that we dared not strike a 
light to see. Men and horses, obeying orders, 
plodded ahead through the slough, scraping 
hubs with cursing drivers who had lost the 
center of the trail and were held fast. All 
around were heard angry voices, the rattle 
of wheels and harness in motion, and the 
crack of whips. A half hour found us in an 
enclosure, conscious of great black walls 
93 



"HELL'S VALLEY." 



looming above us. We were in a gigantic 
bowl formed by hillsides covered with: drip- 
ping, trees. The sides sloped at a 35 degree 
angle ;;1[rom an oozing plateau across which 
we were forbidden to trace tell-tale tracks. 
Accordingly our Fourgon wagons and pieces 
were skirted along the foot of the hills, then 
dragged up under trees that showered us 
with accumulated water. Fifty feet up the 
slope a picket line was stretched somehow 
for our exhausted horses. We were told to 
unroll packs and sleep. Sleep where? Under 
caissons, pieces, and Fourgons, our officers 
sharing the spaces with us, we spread our 
blankets in the mud and passed our first 
night in "Hell's Valley." A dawn that 
seemed never to come gave us our first viev/ 
of the big half-mile bowl. Perfectly hidden 
in the dense woods on the precipitous sides 
around us were the men, the guns, and the 
horses of an entire artillery brigade, ready 
to move into position. 

Determined to avoid a repetition of the 
first night's discomforts, we immediately set 
to work on our section of the hillside. Some 
of us felled small trees and made them into 

94 



ADAPTATION. 



platforms, over which we spread fresh 
boughs. These were rested upon uprights 
driven into the ground to neutralize the 
steep grade. Others secured the same re- 
sults by cutting into the side of the hill. On 
these "floors" we pitched our pup-tents, 
spending the ensuing nights in most luxur- 
ious comfort. There is a contented, snug 
feeling about a pup-tent, after you and your 
pal have finally wriggled into the blankets, 
that no other form of war-time shelter seems 
to give. Perhaps, in addition to its tiny di- 
mensions, this arises largely from the fact 
that the pup-tent is often used at times when 
the contrast with recent hardships is sharp- 
est. Rising in the morning, the formality of 
undressing having long been dispensed with, 
it was only necessary to seize one's messkit, 
let go of the tent, and toboggan down hill to 
breakfast — taking care to detour around a 
picket-line of mules that barred the direct 
route to the kitchen cart. The rest of the day 
was devoted to keeping under cover and dig- 
ging up potatoes for "French fries" in the 
"froggy" patches on the other side of our 
hill. 

95 



AIR RAIDERS. 



The Germans, in spite of our efforts at 
camouflage, knew at once that something 
suspicious was occurring in Hell's Valley. 
Hardly an hour passed that did not find a 
Boche flashing his planes, cloud-high, for 
purposes of spying. Whereupon a half dozen 
anti-aircraft guns concealed along the ridges 
immediately set about convincing him that 
our particular spot was the devil of a place, 
as Hell's Valley should be. At first we drop- 
ped all work and rushed headlong to the foot 
of the hill whenever the guns began to throw 
their black and white aigrettes into the air„ 
Clustered under trees, faces turned upward, 
we ejaculated excited approval of shots that 
burst particularly close to the retreating 
plane, or we admired the nerve of some foe- 
man who "stood the gaff" until his photo- 
graphs were taken. At night, as we lay in 
our tents, the dull, intermittent droning of 
Boche bombers searching for their darkened 
targets plainly could be heard, punctuated 
now and then by the explosions of the bombs 
they dropped. An alarm siren wailed in Pom- 
pey. The white shafts of a dozen hidden 
searchlights swept in vast and spectacular 

96 



AIR RAIDERS. 



radii across the skies. The enemy found, all 
beams instantly converged to one point, 
where, perhaps a mile high, cream- 
colored planes glinted gracefully in the 
light, while around them momentary 
stars burst brilliantly and filled the 
valley below with echoing rumbles. But 
the novelty of these experiences soon wore 
off, becoming no more thrilling to us — though 
frequently far more plentiful^than "chow." 



97 



UP TO THE LINE. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



I RID AY morning, October 11th, the 

I Captain returning from a reconnais- 

ffi^U sance, our first platoon moved out of 
Hell's Valley for the firing line. The ap- 
proach to the positions was reported to be 
under shell fire. Due to our limited number 
of horses, the Captain deemed a long detour 
to avoid that danger inadvisable, and decided 
to hold up until dark before advancing 
further. At 7:30 the march was resumed. 
A guide was picked up at ATTON to lead us 
to our approximate positions, into which we 
moved with the two pieces and caissons at 
about 9 :00 o'clock. This last move was made 
under shell fire, the Germans searching for 
us with H. E. and shrapnel in the woods 
whose edge we were to occupy. 

Our initiation into the "receiving end" of 

the artillery game was not as hair-raising as 

we had once imagined it would be. The 

stages of our training and our advance to the 

98 



UNDER FIRE. 



front lines had been so gradual that to be 
under fire was only a last natural step. 
There were no new elements in the exper- 
ience, but simply a different arrangement of 
them. We had sensed before the noise, the 
whine, and the concussion of thousands of 
exploding shells. But now we were getting 
the crescendo of the whine. We heard them 
coming across the valley, and were so busy 
wondering where they were going to land 
that we almost forgot they might land on us. 
When a few exploded close enough to spray 
our pals with mud, as they did subsequently, 
they gave us a momentary scare. The next 
minute we laughed at being flustrated by 
shells that had already burst. There was 
always that comforting fact that we were 
only "taking a chance." No one had the 
cards stacked. We stood a mighty good 
show at winning. The "A" dice and "red 
dog hounds" were right in their element. 
Yet, in spite of all our dugout philosophy, 
it was very evident from a sort of feverish 
hilarity those first few nights, that we were 
all under a tense nervous strain v/hjch each 
99 



"GUNS IN POSITION— OPERATING." 

of us tried to conceal with songs, jokes, and 
horse-play. 

At 5:00 A. M. of the 12th the platoon 
took over from the French, pulling their guns 
out and putting ours into two old anti-air- 
craft pits. The second platoon left Hell's 
Valley and went into position on the right 
flank of PONT-A-MOUSSON in an open field 
under camouflage the night of the 12th. The 
5th and 6th sections were also marched up 
and placed in charge of an antiquated bat- 
tery of 90 mm. guns, Model 1876, which had 
been part of the permanent defense for years. 
On the 12th, also, the remainder of the Bat- 
tery advanced toward the line to a point 
near AUTREVILLE, occupying the barracks 
of the French artillerymen we had relieved. 
These quarters we found quite comfortable 
after we had excavated them from the empty 
tin cans, bottles, and discarded clothing that 
our temperamental allies left behind. 

Sunday afternoon, October 13th, on the 
MARBACHE SECTOR, "A" fired its first 
shots at the enemy. From that date until 
the 20th, the daily report of our activities 

100 



"THE CRAZY AMERICANS." 

is "Battery on front — guns in position — op- 
erating," 

We had received orders upon going into 
position "to start something," which we at 
once proceeded to do. This enlivened state 
of affairs was not only resented by the Ger- 
mans, who retaliated with 155's and 210's, 
but by the citizens of Atton, whose homes, it 
seems, by some agreement that was a mys- 
tery to us, were safe from bombardment as 
long as the Allies were real nice and gentle 
to the Germans across the valley. Accord- 
ingly, the French artillerymen, who were 
evidently "in on the deep stuff," fired a few 
shots early in the morning somewhere in the 
general direction of Germany. The Germans 
acknowledged the daily salute with an equal 
number of shells, and then both sides laid off 
for the day and went fishing. It was a nice 
war. 

So when the "crazy Americans" moved 
in and started a rumpus without any appar- 
ent provocation except just being at war 
with Germany, we revealed a characteristic 
bit of Yank psychology that the French of 
Atton could not understand, and that gained 
101 



"FROGS HAS WOKE UP." 



us no cordial reception at the hands of the 
villagers. Some of us, from the numerous 
times our communication wires were cut and 
other strange occurrences, even suspected 
that there were a few in Atton who rightly 
belonged on the other side of the line. 

The first infantry troops we supported 
were none other than our dusky friends of 
the 92nd Division, whose trenches were be- 
low us in the valley. They were overjoyed 
t-o learn of the change in artillery behind 
them. One of them stole back to our posi- 
tions in the dark of the night following our 
first barrage. 

"Say, boss," he said, flashing a set of 
caveman teeth in the dim candle-light of the 
dugout, "Ah didn't know you-all was back 
heah. But Lawdy, Lawdy boy, dis mawnin' 
when dat beeerage o' youahs comes a-ramb- 
lin' 'cross ouah trenches, ah turns to ma 
buddy, and Ah says, 'Buddy, dem frawgs has 
shuah woke up!' " 

The next morning, an excited darky offi- 
cer got the Captain by 'phone : "Hello, hello !" 
he said. "Am dis Ventuah? Dis am Vul- 
tuah talkin'. Ah wants a bearage — an' Ah 
102 



PULLING OUT. 



ivants dat bearage!" Thirty minutes later 
the Captain was called again and recognized 
the same voice, but no longer excited. 
"Hello," it said, "Am dis Ventuah? Well, 
dis' am Vultuah again. Dat was shuah some 
bearage! Wha, man, dat come across so 
thick dat yu' couldn't even see through it!" 

Just comfortably settled in our positions 
and enjoying the nightly visits of our col- 
ored friends, the firing battery received ord- 
ers to pull out. On October 21st we were re- 
lieved by the 349th Field Artillery (colored). 

"Say, black boy," we asked one of the 
new artillerymen as we changed guns, "what 
do you do in this man's army?" 

"Why, boss," came the reply through the 
dark, "you-all knows dem dere frawg swasnt 
canses? Well, I'se a gate-tender on one o' 
dem. Ah opens de gate, Ah closes de gate, 
and Ah pulls de string. An' ever' time Ah 
opens dat gate, an' closes dat gate, an' pulls 
dat string. Ah says 'Kaisah, count yo' men !' " 

The remainder of the night was passed 

in the Autreville barracks of the eschelon, 

which had moved out the day before. Here, 

for the third time since our arrival at the 

103 



AVERAGE LIFE. 



line, gas alarms were sounded and we wore 
our masks. It soon developed that the 
"gas," was a darky with a "case of nerves", 
for which we were more or less responsible. 
We have forgotten at just how many minutes 
we put the "average life of an artilleryman" 
in those parts. 



104 



WAR TAXIS. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



a 



T evening mess the entire Battery 
was again assembled in BOIS-LE- 
^ PRETE, near AVRAINVILLE and 
eight miles from our former positions. 
Camouflaged by these woods, we cleaned our 
materiel and rested both horses and men for 
another advance. 

At 5 :30 P. M. of the 26th a solid half- 
mile of French auto trucks snaked up the 
road in our direction and came to a stop. 
They were to carry the 134th and 135th regi- 
ments to the TROYON SECTOR to take up 
positions. "A" loaded into the nine assigned 
us, roping our caissons to the rear. The four 
pieces and rolling kitchen, too delicate to be 
hauled in the same manner, were entrusted 
to our horses. 

Darkness falling, the whole procession 

moved out under a patchy sky that augured 

a cold night. We were tightly wedged in 

on top of our packs and our legs soon became 

105 



ROUGH-RIDING. 



numb from cold and poor circulation. 
Under the constant strain of starting and 
stopping to avoid collisions, the motors 
soon filled the hooded truck-bodies with 
gases that nauseated many of us. Though 
there could not be a gleam on a single one 
of the scores of machines to light the dark 
road, the drivers maintained a maximum clip 
when in motion, swinging our rumbling 
caissons from side to side along the roads. 
If one turned over into the ditch, as was 
more than once the case, the whole proces- 
sion jerked to a standstill until it was 
righted. Pulling aside the curtains and peer- 
ing out into the night, we saw the jagged 
edges of ghost towns, now only walls and 
parts of- walls, with their roofs a mass of 
debris in cellars the night made bottomless. 
A sentinel in somber blue uniform stepped 
like a spectre from the shadows now and 
then, hailing us with an inquisitive cheer- 
fulness that seemed to issue from sepulchres. 
When the motors purred restfully during 
some readjustment along the line, we heard 
the rumble of guns, and looked out at a hori- 
zon blinking with artillery lightning. 

106 



FIRST SOUVENIRS. 

We were happy to alight at 3:00 A. M. 
and to unfasten our caissons, rolling them to- 
gether on the pavement. Under these some 
of us spread our blankets and tried to sleep 
until dawn;' but the majority paced rapidly 
to and fro in an effort to restore circulation 
to frozen feet. Sunlight, coming at last, gave 
us relief. We discovered that we were on 
the edge of HEUDICOURT, from which the 
Germans had recently beat a hasty retreat, 
not, however, before much of the town was 
destroyed. Exploring the ruins, we found 
German books, letters, newspapers, quarter- 
master records, tools, ammunition, and a sack 
of old French bread, the centers of which we 
found soft. It tided us over to the arrival of 
the "cooky-cart." This precious article came 
up the road, along with the pieces, at noon, 
serving us coffee and bread immediately, and, 
at 5:30 o'clock, stew, potatoes, jam, and 
again the welcome black beverage which has 
so many times warmed our bones and re- 
stored our "pep." There was nothing on our 
fighting menu, including bread itself, that 
we would not have surrendered in preference 
to our "black cheer." 

107 



"VERBOTEN" GROUND. 

We spent the night of the 27th in our pup- 
tents at the edge of Heudicourt. Before we 
slept we discussed with our partners the sig- 
nificance of all the traffic which had passed 
us during the day and which was still pass- 
ing. It seemed as if "there might be some- 
thing doing somewhere." 

On the march which began at 7 :00 A. M. 
the next morning we passed German dug- 
outs and bomb-proofs of admirable construc- 
tion all overgrown with the grass of years, 
until they seemed a natural and not unsight- 
ly part of the landscape. The heavy doors of 
these, in spite of the eternal "VERBOTEN" 
warnings, had been smashed in, revealing 
piles of artillery and machine gun ammuni- 
tion and boxes of "potato mashers." Join- 
ing the bomb-proofs and vanishing in the 
midst of a group of black buildings where 
smoking appeared the particular "verboten" 
deed, was a narrow-gauge railway. 

Toward the end of four miles our column 
turned into a camouflaged road that took us 
uphill. Gaily colored walls of leaves and 
shredded burlap threaded around a wire 
meshwork rose high above us along either 
108 



HUN PARADISE. 



side. Over our heads vertical panels of 
autumnal colors five feet wide were stretched 
at 25-yard intervals. At a distance, top 
and sides converged in perfect vista. Smok- 
ing our cigarettes during a delicious rest, it 
all seemed like the main aisle of some gay 
metropolitan fair back home. But the com- 
mand "Fall in" shattered the day-dream, and 
the new sweat on our backs soon changed the 
"decorations" to camouflage. 

* * * * :;: ^ 

At the high end of this arcade we found 
the tiny village of CREUE, recently relieved, 
as an inscription on the square announced, 
from the "German Yoke." And on the out- 
skirts of Creue we moved into a Teuton para- 
dise whose comfort-loving builders had never 
intended to evacuate. 

The whole camp nestled in a beautiful lit- 
tle valley of trees and green pasture. At the 
near end, after we had passed a series of 
bomb-proofs fitted with pilfered glass win- 
dows and built-in bunks, we found a neat 
little building with a rustic porch and arbor. 
The arbor widened into a beer garden seclud- 
ed by trees and equipped with a long table 
109 



BOWLING ALLEYS AND ARBORS. 

and benches. To our left along the foot of 
the hill stretched the wooden terrace of the 
"mere privates." Every door opened onto a 
porch. Inside, the double walls were painted 
and frescoed. Twenty weary paces from 
their terrace the privates had constructed a 
bowling alley where the long hours of wait- 
ing for "Der Tag" might be beguiled. Or, 
if bowling became tiresome, it was only ne- 
cessary to ascend to one of the rustic arbors 
of white birch built in selected trees. Here, 
seated on his bench among the birds and 
leaves, the romantic Teuton might dream in 
peace of his Hilda — or, if the birds sang in- 
spiringly, he might even write her love- 
verses. The farther end of the valley con- 
tained stables, store-houses, and a kitchen 
with cement floors and great iron soup-ket- 
tles. Still beyond them, overlooking the en- 
tire grounds and peeking forth from the 
leaves on the hillside, were the officers' cot- 
tages, of Swiss design, with colored glass 
windows that suggested the village church, 
and delicate balconies of intricate artistry. 
Back again in the cottage by the beer garden, 
inscribed in heavy script above a bed, we read 

110 



SECOND POSITIONS. 



"Hier ruhten Viiddings mude Glieder." But 
we could not locate Herr Vuddings. 

Where had you gone, Herr Vuddings, and 
why did you leave so quickly this lovely spot 
that rested your "tired hmbs"? Were you 
one of the two big fellows who died in the 
public square of Creue on the bayonet of the 
tiny Yank the townfolks tell about? 

In this valley our eschelon took up its 
quarters for the five best days of our active 
service. Our firing battery moved into posi- 
tion on the other side of the hill during the 
night. The guns covered HATTONCHAT- 
TEL on the TROYON SECTOR. Here we 
supported the 28th Division and were at- 
tached to the 164th Field Artillery Brigade, 
under General Donnelly, We relieved the 
39th French Artillery, of the famous "Iron 
Division." The quarters of the firing bat- 
tery were not inferior in any particular to 
those of the eschelon. Though Boche shells 
from somewhere awoke us on two occasions 
fifteen minutes before rising time, we all 
hoped that we might spend the winter in our 
new quarters. 

The positions at Creue furnished us no 
111 



"DOG FIGHTS," ETC. * 

end of amusement in the line of air battles. 
Daily, planes met over our heads, pecked and 
darted at one another, putt-putted their ma- 
chine guns empty in a free-for-all "dog 
fight," and, seeming suddenly to have ended 
their differences, glided away in opposite di- 
rections. The "anti's" invariably assisted the 
Boches in leaving as soon as the friendly 
planes v^ere out of the fracas. One Hun ma- 
chine, flying at a great height, showered our 
part of the line with the "come-let's-be- 
brothers" type of propoganda, printed in 
English on one side and in French on the 
reverse. 

October 30th five Boches by a clever 
ruse "got" our American observation bal- 
loon. Attracted by the boom of the anti- 
aircraft guns we observed, high up in the 
sky, four Boches in hot pursuit of a single 
plane. The "anti's" were harrying the four 
with apparent success, for they lost speed, 
while the fugitive "ducked" into a friendly 
cloud. Suddenly, following a close burst of 
shrapnel, one pursuer began to veer and 
tumble lamely, as if out of control. All eyes 
were centered on him, waiting for the burst 

112 



BATTERY DEBATES. 

of flame and the fatal fall. We forgot the 
poor fugitive behind the cloud. Poor fugi- 
tive! But he hadn't forgotten us! With 
a downv^ard swoop that took our breath he 
dropped like a hawk from his concealment 
straight for our big, helpless balloon. On 
the verge of what we thought would be a 
collision he held up next to the unwieldy bag, 
fired his machine-gun, and missed. His mo- 
mentum carried him past. Boldly swerving 
around and banking a second time, he again 
darted straight for his victim and released 
another string of incendiary bullets, this time 
with success. The two observers leaped with 
parachutes as their bag flared up, barely 
missing the enemy plane as they did so. 
Fritz, who had paralyzed everybody with his 
daring surprise and who had gained the ad- 
miration of not a few of us, roared away in 
his powerful machine to safety. His escape 
was the subject of a lot of subsequent argu- 
ment in the battery. Some of the debaters, 
on the theory that he was "a good sport and 
took a big gamble" argued that he deserved 
"to get away with it." They were assailed 
as pro-German by their honorable opponents. 

113 



COOTIES PARADISE. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



I UR- hopes of an all-winter sojourn at 

Creue were cut short November 3rd. 

^^ With our packs again on our backs we 
marched over the hill to another German 
camp in the MONTAGNE FOREST. Wad- 
ing under the trees through deep mud which 
neither sun nor wind had the access to dry, 
we found a miserable group of buildings con- 
structed of tar-paper over chicken-wire. The 
"walls" and "roofs" were rotted by constant 
dampness and hung in loose patches on their 
wire framework. Littered everywhere were 
piles of decaying refuse that tainted the air 
within and around the buildings. Here Ger- 
man and Allied cooties met, fraternized and 
called a truce, resulting in an improved spe- 
cies that combined Teuton method and Yankee 
resource, and that were to fill with misgivings 
until the last moment our pre-embarkation 
days. Spending one night in these surround- 
ings, during which it rained, we moved out 
114 



THIRD POSITIONS. 



in the morning to improved quarters that the 
Captain had secured for us. 

The firing battery experienced none of 
the delights of this night in "Cooties' Para- 
dise." From Creue they proceeded direct 
to new positions between ST. MAURICE and 
BILLY-SUR-COTE. Here, still in the 
TROYON SECTOR, we supported the 33rd 
Division, under General Kilbreth, and were 
attached to the 55th Brigade of Field Artil- 
lery. Our positions, in BOIS-LE-HAYE and 
again amidst German surroundings, were 
comfortable and well hidden, near the edge 
of the Plains of Woel. 

The eschelon had located itself in the 
"Camp of a Thousand Steps", for which the 
Germans once more must be thanked. The 
site received its name from a long, steep 
flight of log steps which lifted us above the 
mud of the valley to dry huts ranged over the 
hillside. In reality there were 180 steps, but 
the place was christened by a detail that as- 
cended the flight with a dozen cast-iron stoves 
of German durability. 

We had hardly toasted our shins around 
the German stoves however, when the order 
115 



ON TO METZ. 



came to move again. At 5:30 A. M. of 
November 9th the Battery started a 16-mile 
hike toward Metz. Our route took us through 
Heudicourt, Pannes and Essay to the 
THIAUCOURT SECTOR. At Heudicourt 
the early morning f ullfilled its threat of rain. 
Hot sweat and cold water met halfway in 
our clothes, and the New York Hebrew who 
sold our raincoats to the Government came 
in for his usual promises of death in fiendish 
forms too horrible to describe. 

The march began to wear on us like the 
one of our first days in France. Once through 
Pannes, the roads became hidden under slate- 
colored mud into which we sank to depths 
that constantly varied and kept us guessing. 
What was once a good highway was cut to 
pieces by an enormous traffic of artillery that 
steadily had been rolling in for the ''big do- 
ings" against the German stronghold. Great 
naval guns, camouflaged along the road, let 
go and recoiled smoothly as lomocotive pist- 
ons while we passed. The crews told us of 
vast artillery concentrations that had been 
going on for days. "It'll make Chateau 
Thierry, the Argonne and St. Mihiel all 
116 



CHEERFUL PROSPECTS. 

thrown in together look like a Sunday school 
picnic back home," they promised. The state- 
ment recalled some words that a very cur- 
rent story ascribed to General Pershing while 
we were at De Souge. Upon being asked by 
a prominent United States official if the 
Americans could take Metz, he is said to have 
replied: "Yes, we can take Metz. But it 
will cost 1,000 American lives an hour for 72 
hours." 

At 6:00 o'clock we fell out to spend the 
night in a small, dripping valley covered with 
churned mud. Selecting the cleanest spot, 
we stretched a picket line for our spattered 
horses and adjusted their scanty feed-bags. 
Some of us, in the absence of a place to lie 
down, sat up all night. Some spread their 
blankets anywhere in the wet and slept. A 
lucky few who had the stamina left located 
dugouts. Shortly after dark the light "Pop!" 
of exploding gas shells was heard, and an 
alarm was given. In the morning, after mess, 
we were paid. The idea of a pocketful of 
francs in that devastated territory and on 
the eve of a drive on Metz started a volley of 
117 



"LA GUERRE FINI S." 

light banter that helped to digest our break- 
fast beans.. 

At 9:00 the eschelon moved a mile to a 
group of mouldy dugouts, — a vast improve- 
ment both in comfort and safety over the 
muddy valley. The guns pulled into posi- 
tions at EUVEZIN, in support of the 55th 
Infantry, 10th Division. The renowned 
"11 :00 o'clock of the 11th" found us all set 
in camouflaged positions under a covering 
crest, throwing our last shots into the Ger- 
mans, and ready to advance across a great 
open plain in the Big Push we expected to 
the last minute. 



The Armistice was not a total surprise 
to us. We had heard for a week persistent 
rumors of a cessation of hostilities. For a 
month, while we kept on fighting, our French 
Allies had made "La Guerre finis!" a phrase 
common to our ears. On the morning of the 
11th it became known all along the line that 
11:00 o'clock would be the deciding hour. 
Beginning at 10 :00 o'clock, a violent barrage 
was poured into Metz and its environs by the 
118 



DOUBTS— REASSURANCES. 

artillery hidden all around us. The din, ever 
increasing in volume, climbed to its zenith at 
10:50, held the climax for five minutes, and 
suddenly dropped to a silence that vv^as un- 
canny by abrupt contrast — like a lonely can- 
yon after a violent electrical storm. We stood 
puzzled, awaiting another burst of commo- 
tion, afraid to hope. Only a few random 
shots from scattered points caught our ears. 
They, too, died away. Was it possible that 
all the gigantic momentum of the greatest 
American drive — perhaps one of the greatest 
Allied drives — which we had seen generating 
for days, — was it possible that this had stop- 
ped dead still within a space of five minutes ? 
Were the Germans "slipping something 
over?" A hundred doubts passed through 
our minds. Then a German plane flew low 
along the battle line. It carried a great white 
flag. No one fired at it. We heard cheers, 
first faint and far away ; but they soon leapt 
from clump to clump like wild-fire in our 
direction. The spirit was irresistible. We 
cheered and the contagion spread beyond us. 
Every grove, every cluster of bushes, every 
hollow became alive with exultant shouts 

119 



JUBILATION. 



and cries. "The war's over!" — "The Ger- 
mans are licked !" — "To hell with the Kaiser 
and the Crown Prince!" — "We won!" — 
"Hurrah, we're going home !" From the in- 
fantry lines rockets and star-shells shot up- 
ward in celebration. The doughboys, for- 
getting orders, went over the top without 
a casualty, crossed No Man's Land to the 
Teuton lines, and began appropriating Iron 
Crosses, helmets, insignia, and bayonets from 
the persons of the enemy. The war was in- 
deed over, and we were jubilant. There 
wasn't a man among us who hadn't gotten 
"all he wanted" during 32 days of actual 
combat service. Yet there wasn't a man 
among us who would not have fought on in- 
definitely for final victory. But the war was 
won, and now When Were We Going Home ? 
For reply we took our choice of a hundred 
new-born rumors. 



120 



"THE BATTLE OF COMBIEN." 



CHAPTER XIX. 



v»^|E lost no time in shaking the mud of 
jX|| Metz from our heels. The 12th found 
^0^ us back in Creue far the second time. 
Some outfit had beat us to our former camp 
in the valley, and we were assigned to a large 
room of "double-deckers" in the town proper. 
The following night, conjointly with the 
103rd Sanitary Train of the 28th Division, 
we held a bonfire celebration of the Allied 
victory. 

We also began the "Great Battle of Com- 
bien." Overly optimistic concerning our 
home-going, we bickered and haggled with 
French civilians, soldiers and comrades for 
souvenirs to take to America. Cigarette 
lighters, belt buckles, helmets, pistols, but- 
tons, Iron Crosses and German coins com- 
manded wild prices and had no end of buy- 
ers. The Battery Shylocks got rich and re- 
mained so if they stayed away from the "A" 
Monte Carlo that here saw flourishing days. 
121 



BERLIN OR BREST? 

On the 17th of the month we moved to bet- 
ter quarters at the other end of town, which 
we worked late into the night improving. 
But some of us had not rolled up in our blan- 
kets for the night's sleep when the order came 
to pack up for the second time in twelve 
hours. Comfortable as our new home prom- 
ised to be, we gladly responded, while rumors 
as to our destination put us anywhere be- 
tween Berlin and Brest. One "Rumor 
Hound" had us across the ocean eating 
Christmas dinner with the folks. He had 
"gotten it" straight from a second lieutenant 
who had once been engaged to the cousin of 
a lady whose maid had seen General Persh- 
ing's car pass. The automobile was in- 
scribed "U. S. War Department." So it cer- 
tainly was a War Department car, and the 
War Department ought to know who was 
going home and who was not ! 

The next day, whatever our destination, 
we jammed into Nash "Quads" and jour- 
neyed through the wrecked environs of St. 
Mihiel. The effects of the American artil- 
lery fire on the shattered towns in No Man's 
Land showed us why the Germans had 
122 



CAMP GIBRALTAR. 



deemed "St. Mihiel no longer essential to 
their plans." En route we passed a darky 
road gang at its labors. 

"Hello, ahtill'ry boys, where's you-all 
goin'?" inquired one of the duskies, leaning 
on his pick. 

"We're going to the U. S. A. toute suite, 
black boy," came the response from a truck. 

"Das jes' it — das jes' it!" retorted the 
darky, shaking his head gravely. "You-all 
am de fellows dat busted up dese heah roads 
with youah ahtill'ry, an' now us colo'd sold- 
jahs is de ones dats got t' stay and fix 'em 
up!" 

It soon developed, however, that our col- 
ored comrade had no immediate cause for 
melancholy comparisons of fortune. At the 
end of twenty-five miles our trucks rolled 
through the forlorn little town of THIL- 
LOMBOIS, struggled half-way up a muddy 
hill, ground hard at their heavy gears, and 
jerked to a stop. We alighted at CAMP 
GIBRALTAR. To account for that name we 
have never been able, unless it was given by 
some grim humorist. But we have never 

123 



MUD AND GLOOM. 



doubted that the joke was on us for more 
than the next three weeks. 

There was much about "Gibraltar" that 
made the long days there the most dismal of 
our army life. The camp itself was a muddle 
of tattered tar-paper chicken coops scattered 
in no particular fashion over a layer of mud 
that never dried. Moreover, it was located 
on the crest of a long hill, so that we had 
to go through all the mud at all times to get 
to all places. We drilled in mud, policed in 
mud, ate — standing — in mud, stood forma- 
tions in mud. We carried mud in great lumps 
on our shoes to the earthen floors of our 
huts. From the floors it spread somehow to 
the blankets on our bunks and to everything 
we possessed. We lived in mud, and a daily 
November rain that seemed never to drain 
off the hillside kept it soft, clinging, oozy — 
at times, almost maddening. 

Grimy from these surroundings and 
our work before the armistice we waited 
in line for alleged showers that would 
give us our first bath for many weeks. 
Alas, our turn arrived, we were simply 
re-christened! They were "frog" showers! 

124 



HOMESICKNESS. 



To the discomforts of our environment 
was added a scarcity of food such as 
we had rarely experienced even during our 
month of fighting, and the more aggravating 
in days of peace. At a time when we most 
longed for home, now that "our job was 
done," persistent and depressing rumors 
came of our being in the army of occupation. 
We discussed them at night around our fires 
of stolen wood while our shins roasted, our 
wet shoes steamed and our backs froze. 
Homesickness which we never had the time 
to feel during our training and combat days 
now began to becloud our spirits. When the 
scant embers bleached to ashes in our make- 
shift grates, we rolled into our blankets and 
dreamed the minutest details of a home-com- 
ing which every hour threatened to thrust 
further towards a vague future. Awakening 
in the cold night from such transitory joys, 
we heard the domestic brawls of huge rodents 
under our bunks, where our heavy shoes were 
overturned in the squealing melee. On such 
occasions we strove to be tolerant: rats and 
men will fight. But when victorious wife 
and vanquished spouse started a marathon 

125 



SALVAGING. 



up the chicken-wire sides of our shacks and 
leapt a gap onto our blankets, it was too 
much. We arose, yelled for the gang, lit a 
besmeared candle and started a midnight 
rat hunt. But the exits were innumerable 
and the chase yielded nought save livid 
language and an almost instantaneous re- 
turn of our cantankerous visitors. 

The day following our arrival at "Gibral- 
tar" our officers had planned a schedule 
designed to keep us from the dangers of 
idleness. For a week we salvaged the 
camp and its environs, accumulating large 
piles of French and American war equip- 
ment that had been scattered through- 
cut the woods and along the roads. 
November 21st, in a grove of saplings in 
which it had "come down" without serious 
mishap, an "A" man discovered a great twin- 
motor Boche bombing plane. Near the ma- 
chine were two pairs of heavy aviator's 
boots, evidently abandoned by the Teuton oc- 
cupants for a hasty escape. Battery A re- 
ceived first choice of souvenirs, including a 
machine-gun, the black-cross insignia, and 
126 



SECOND CHILDHOOD. 

two watches. Papers found in the machine 
were dated March, 1918. 

Following the week of policing, our army 
life degenerated into a dreary second child- 
hood. We reverted to the detested foot- 
drill of our most verdant rookie days — 
all executed on muddy grades that were 
either up or down. During our training 
days we had tolerated such drill: it led 
to a goal of fighting efficiency. But now 
fighting was over. There was no longer "an 
object." When would it all end? Thanks- 
giving came and went. The cold days of 
December drizzles began to drag toward 
Christmas. When were we going to "get 
out of there" ? Were we going to Germany ? 
Were we going home? Rumors that alter- 
nately raised our hopes and cast us into gloom 
were the only answers. No one knew — too 
many thought they knew. 



127 



INTO CANAAN. 



CHAPTER XX. 



IT last, December 12th, 10:00 A. M., 

we slipped down the wet sides of 

^^ "Gibraltar" with our packs on our 
backs. Marching five miles through a steady 
down-pour, we came to PIERREFITTE. 
Pierrefitte, a town of perhaps two thousand 
war-poor souls, looked like the Promised 
Land to us, the weary pilgrims of Thillom- 
bois. It boasted a narrow gauge railway, 
a notion store on the main street, three 
cafes, two town pumps, a lady barber, 
and a town major. The latter dignitary 
assigned us to clean barn lofts that were 
dry and weatherproof. He also provided 
us with fresh straw and newly-washed 
ticks, which we spread out on bunks or crude 
wooden cots. Later we even enjoyed the 
luxury of stoves. Occasionally the electric 
lights of the town would function, furnish- 
ing us with a meager glow from toy bulbs 
that warmed our hearts. Back on the fron- 
128 



BETTER DAYS. 



tier of civilization again, we grew vain and 
lined up for the ministrations of the feminine 
hair-artist, whose prices were far better 
than her razors and technique. Then we 
made the rounds of the cafes, smothering 
them all under a pile of accumulated francs. 
"The crazy Americans," thought the soon 
plutocratic publicans, "they spend money 
just hke they fight!" But what were francs 
to us ? It was only frog money, and we were 
out of "Gibraltar"! 

Simultaneously with our quarters, our 
army life improved. From our kitchen be- 
gan to emanate a vastly improved quantity 
and variety of food. The lean days of Thil- 
lombois were gone forever, and the army 
garbage pail — always the barometer of 
plenty — began to fill again. Around the 
corner we bathed under American showers 
that gave us what the name promised. 
Clothing, desperately in need of washing, 
was entrusted to housewives of the village 
who paddled it clean in three or four wash- 
ings for a reasonable fee. The old foot-drill 
was supplanted by long hikes at route order 
and dismounted gun-drill. (We had turned 
129 



NEW DIVERSIONS. 



in our horses a month before.) Furloughs 
were allotted, providing a full week at fam- 
ous French summer resorts. Here the Yanks 
were the guests at the finest hotels and were 
lavishly entertained at the expense of the 
United States Government and the Y. M. C. 
A. A regimental reading-room and library, 
comfortably heated and liberally provided 
with fiction, was established. In a large 
barn a stage was erected to accommodate A. 
E. F. and Y. M. C. A. entertainments which 
began to travel their circuits at this time. 
It was everywhere evident that Uncle Sam, 
in spite of our doubts at "Gibraltar," had 
not forgotten us. Relieved of his gigantic 
tasks of fighting, he was working hard and 
successfully to entertain his boys during 
demobilization. And he was doing it as 
only the wealthiest nation on earth could 
afford to do it. 

Thillombois was the lowest rung of our 
peace-time ladder. Our three weeks there 
were weeks of readjustment and of tran- 
sition from war to peace. Starting there, 
we slowly climbed to better quarters, bet- 
ter food, and better diversion with rarely 
130 



"HOMEWARD BOUND." 

a downward step. In the meantime we had 
sighted a new object on which to concen- 
trate our thoughts during disagreeable tasks. 
That object was "going home." 

January of the new year became a month 
of joyous significance. It proved once and 
for all that we were not scheduled for the 
army of occupation, and that we were in 
the first slow stages of the process of being 
"Homeward Bound." On the 23rd we re- 
turned to the U. S. Quartermaster our ord- 
nance, engineering and signal property. The 
next day, without a tear, we said farewell to 
Go Betsy, Yip-Yip, Hollenden Bar, and 
Molly — our quartet of 75's — to be melted 
into the ploughshares of peace for all we 
cared. 

February 4th, starting at 7:30 A. M., 
we hiked eleven miles to a rail-head at 
BANNONCOURT, entraining in the after- 
noon. Plenteous Peace had upholstered with 
straw the floors of our box-cars. For a day 
and a half we passed through towns that we 
had seen before on our ride to the front. 
Then we struck out due west toward the At- 
lantic through a beautiful section of France 
131 



"ALL OFF!" 

that had never been blemished by the march 
of restless armies. At 2 :00 P. M. February 
7th, we stopped sixty miles north-east of St. 
Nazaire, at SEGRE. 



132 



"WELCOME, AMERICANS!" 



CHAPTER XXI. 



I N the Segre depot, one of the town 

patriarchs, georgeous in the brass 

^^ trappings of a conductor's uniform 
with a Napoleonic hat, and supported by 
a dozen of the community's most venerable 
political pillars, made a speech of welcome 
and handed us the Key to the City. Our 
detraining was typical of the reception ac- 
corded us throughout the town. March- 
ing to our billets, the first Yankee sol- 
diers to be seen in Segre, we passed under 
"Welcome" signs and clusters of Franco- 
American flags, while the citizens marked 
our entry as an occasion of historic import- 
ance in the annals of the town. This wel- 
come, so different from that accorded in war- 
weary sections, we were quick to appreciate 
and to preserve. The result was the forma- 
tion of many personal friendships that will 
remain cordial when much else of our days 
in France is forgotten. The people of Segre, 
133 



S E G R E. 

clean, thrifty, hospitable, honest, and fully 
aware of America's great part in the war, re- 
moved any "bitter tastes" with which we 
might have left the shores of France. 

Segre itself is representative of its good 
citizenship. A city of perhaps 15,000, it has 
broad, sanitary streets, modern buildings, 
good hotels, cafes and restaurants, well- 
stocked shops of all sorts, ancient landmarks, 
and beautiful trees, bridges, and gardens. It 
is by far the prettiest French town we had 
seen, and, after months of living in devas- 
tated war regions, this quality of beauty ap- 
pealed to us with singular force. 

Equally rare during our previous months 
in France was the presence of stores where we 
might spend our money. Accordingly. Segre 
merchants enjoyed an era of prosperity such 
as they had probably never seen before and 
which they did not abuse by raising their 
prices. As "rich Americans" we had been 
accustomed to paying too much ; the one-price 
system was a pleasing novelty. In the jewel- 
ry, notions, and dry-goods shops, therefore, 
we bought souvenirs to take or send home. 
To the patisseries we paid a fortune for small 
134 



HOME COMFORTS. 



imitations of the pie, cream-puffs and eclairs 
of our American days. In the meat shops, 
groceries and bakeries we purchased, at war- 
time prices, all the dainties for which we had 
longed the past months. 

We had not been long in Segre when the 
people opened their homes to us. Half the 
Battery was soon enjoying, at very reason- 
able rates, the luxury of a French bed, wash- 
stand and clean towel. Around the tables 
of our hosts we ate our first home-cooked 
meals. Before their open hearths, still scan- 
tily fed with fuel, we gesticulated and stam- 
mered with sympathetic assistance through 
the French language and had an insight into 
French domestic life. 

French mademoisellesl Ah, yes, we saw 
them, too! But where, oh where, were the 
ravishing home-wreckers of whom we read 
in American fiction and of whom our Amer- 
ican sweethearts were — shall we say it out 
loud? — afraid? Perhaps in Bordeaux, per- 
haps in Paris, but not in Segre. Further- 
more, if it still be of interest to our Amer- 
ican sisters, those of us who saw Bordeaux 
and saw Paris, do hereby solemnly aver and 
135 



HAPPY BOREDOM. 



testify, with all due respect to foreign beauty, 
that girl for girl there is no beauteous host 
in France, and we dare say in the world, 
that can vanquish our own Glorious Army of 
American Womanhood. If there be any in 
France or Europe who take exception to this 
opinion, let them visit America; if there be 
any in America, let them visit France and 
Europe. We have been in both places. We 
saw. (All right, ladies— throw the bouquets 
now.) 



Our military efforts in Segre were all bent 
towards the new object we had acquired after 
the war was won. As mentioned before, it 
was to be "Homeward Bound." Had it not 
been for so coveted a goal, the routine of 
those days would have been an insufferable 
bore. As it was, we went through the purga- 
torial fires of our pre-embarkation days with 
the resolution and solemn joy of saints. 
Whether it was true or not, we were informed 
that the date of our embarkation was based 
upon competition. It was put to us that in 
all matters of discipline, quartermaster in- 

136 



"COMPETING." 



spections, and sanitation we were competing 
with other divisions to get home. 

The results were astounding. We re- 
verted gladly to our rookie practice of the 
proper way to salute. No lurking "inspec- 
tor" would find us lacking in the ways of 
military courtesy! We guarded with infin- 
ite care every article of equipment, dow^n to 
the last shoe-string, that each man must 
needs possess for a dozen battery, regimental, 
brigade, division and area inspections. We 
rehearsed forwards and backwards an un- 
flinching statement of when we had oiir last 
bath, sir, when we washed our shirts last, 
sir — date, day, hour, place — all in anticipa- 
tion of sudden questions by strange officers. 
Whether we had bathed and washed as spe- 
cified was not half so important to our "ob- 
ject" as a direct, convincing statement to 
that eff'ect. If a comrade, imbibing too much 
of triple sec or cognac, laid plans to tie the 
main street of town into a knot, we spirited 
him away in the name of order and discipline. 

Last and foremost, for three solid weeks 
we battled tooth and nail with cooties. We 
were lectured on cooties, we were shown cap- 
137 



TERRIBLE DAYS. 



tive cooties, dead and alive, we were inspec- 
ted informally for cooties, we "read our 
shirts" twice a day for cooties, we pressed 
our clothes to burn cooties, we washed our 
clothes to drown cooties, we steamed our 
clothes into unrecognizable shreds to scald 
cooties. At night we dreamed about cooties, 
awakening to "feel them" crawling in hosts 
triumphant over our bodies — investigating 
with palpitating hearts to find none. One 
tiny cootie found at the official inspection 
would "stop a man from going home with 
the unit". Six would block the whole bat- 
tery. So that the other fellow's cooties be- 
came a matter of battery interest. He who 
had cooties and labored not, night and day, 
to be rid thereof, became the lowest of the 
low. It was not a disgrace to have 'em — even 
majors and colonels did sometimes — but it 
was a crime dastardly and unpardonable to 
keep 'em. 

So after weeks of warfare against tiny 
foes that the power of suggestion had made 
multitudinous upon us, the great Day of De- 
cision came. Were we, or were we not "go- 
ing home with the unit" ? Our regiment had 
138 



THE DAY OF DECISION. 



received a grade of 100% for equipment in- 
spections. What about cooties? March 3rd 
that mighty potentate, the Area Cootie 
Lieutenant hove into Segre. "A" was sum- 
moned. We stripped to the waist with dire 
forebodings. In turns we crossed the room 
to The Mighty One. He seized us, bored us 
with his eyes, whirled us around, bored us 
again, and dismissed us with a grunt of ap- 
proval and a farewell shove — all in a half 
second of time. 

Easy stuff? Was someone "getting by" 
with cooties? Suddenly the Ogre shot his 
vulture glance clear across the room at a 
shivering wretch. "Hey, you," he yelled, 
"you with the hair on your chest — come 
here ! Youve got 'em — saw 'em clean across 
the room." The accursed one shuffled over 
the floor in limp obedience. "Sergeant," 
commanded the Condemner in damning 
words, "take this man's name and outfit." 
Yet another victim came through the "A" 
line. The inspection showed that two of 
our men — oh, must we confess it? — were 
guilty of having cooties. But "A" passed 
as a battery ! In the cafes that night we cele- 
139 



VICTORIOUS— COOTIELESS. 

brated the glorious outcome of the Battle of 
Segre. Then, hieing to our beds, we slept, for 
the first time in weeks, the sleep of the vic- 
torious — the just — the cootieless. 



140 



SEGRE FAREWELLS. 



a 



CHAPTER XXII. 

FITTING reward for our trials at 
Segre was our departure on the 6th 
^^y of March for Brest. We were bound 
for Brest at last ! Brest, that magic word of 
hopes and fears — the light m the gloom — 
the symbol of duty done — the payment in full 
— the goal of the A. E. F. 

We marched out of Segre at 9 :00 A. M, 
The town was out to bid us adieu. It came 
with flowers, with warm handshakes, with 
convulsive farewells and embraces that only 
the French can give. Not a few of us, while 
in ranks, received the orthodox kiss on each 
cheek from motherly dames who had given us 
our first taste of faraway home. We left 
with genuine regrets — proud of the record 
of conduct and friendship we had made, and 
jealous lest it be spoiled by some succeeding 
regiment. 

We did not entrain at Segre, but marched 
fifteen miles to CHATEAU GONTIER, 
141 



BREST AT LAST. 



where the entire brigade was assembling. 
"Quads" carried our packs. At 7:30 P. M. 
we rolled out in American box-cars that had 
round wheels and were maneuvered by a 
Yankee engineer. There were fifty-five of 
us to a car, but we did not lament. A time 
there was, at melancholy Thillombois, when 
we vowed we would march full-pack to the 
sea and sail the briny deep in a canal boat to 
get home. 

We arrived at BREST shortly after 
noon, March 7th, the highly expectant vic- 
tims of the old fable of "Going direct 
from the train to the transport." Instead, 
we piled out into the eternal rain. Putting 
on our packs, we did a hard four-mile march 
up hill to CAMP PONTANEZEN. To our 
last day in France the Fates have assigned 
us to camps on hills. 

We had always heard dire tales of Brest 
as an embarkation point. But, whether these 
stories were based on former conditions since 
rectified, or whether they were greatly exag- 
gerated by a peculiar tendency of all soldiers 
to "crab", we were pleasantly surprised with 
Camp Pontanezen. We were sheltered in the 
142 



"DIVISIONAL COMPETITION." 

pyramidal tents of our Sheridan days, with 
wooden floors, stoves, iron cots, and cork- 
filled ticks. No tent was crowded. The re- 
nowned mud of the place was combatted by 
board-walks that it was rarely necessary to 
leave. The feeding system was by far the 
best we had encountered anywhere in France. 
Under one great roof a long series of tables 
was divided by rails into sections resembling 
a Chicago stockyard. There was no waiting 
in line. The batteries formed up, marched 
to the big hall, filed through one of the twen- 
ty doors where wholesome food was slapped 
into the mess-kits, followed the railings, ate 
standing at tables, followed the railings again 
to steaming caldrons of soapy water and 
washed their mess-kits — all in fifteen min- 
utes. Signs at the exits offered "Seconds" 
and even "Thirds." The whole scheme was 
foolproof. It would have worked just as well 
with cattle. 

At Brest we again entered a "divisional 
competition" — either imagined or real — but 
with the same remarkable results. We were 
warned by our officers to utter no word 
against Brest, lest sensitive ears comman- 

143 



FLIP-FLOPS AND HANDSPRINGS. 

deered the speaker's services indefinitely for 
the improvements he thus admitted possible. 
A wild story, to which we gave willing 
credence, was circulated about the Marine 
M. P.'s of the place. Any stranded "Soldier of 
the Sea" who could arrest fourteen men was 
rewarded with instantaneous passage home 
and an honorable discharge. Whistling in 
mess line, an unbuttoned pocket, puttees rol- 
led down instead of up, and an appearance of 
being happy at going home in the presence 
of less fortunate souls, were "sufficient cause 
for arrest." We therefore praised Brest, 
loved the beautiful rain and all France, and 
stood formations with faces that would have 
graced the edge of a filling grave. 

Sunday, the 9th, the entire regiment 
emerged unscathed from a final cootie and 
physical inspection. Among the number 
were the two "A" men who in Segre "were 
not going home with the unit." Returning 
to our tents in somber procession, we were 
activated to handsprings and flip-flops, sub 
rosa, by a rumor of sailing the following 
Wednesday. But outside our tents were we 

144 



TO THE DOCKS. 

glad to leave Brest and fair France so soon ? 
Ah no, ah no! 

Monday the regimental flag was formally 
decorated by the French with three streamers 
bearing the names of our three sectors. At 
4 :00 o'clock the Captain informed us, in 
secret convention assembled, that we were 
to sail Wednesday on the U. S. Battleship 
New Hampshire, and we exchanged our 
French francs for the "real money of the 
U. S. A." But mess-time brought us still 
better news. We were to sail Tuesday on the 
Battleship Vey-mont. 

The Vermont on Tuesday it was. On our 
march to the water-front we passed several 
hundred German prisoners, a coincidence 
that impressed us deeply. For an hour and 
a half we waited in the immaculate Amer- 
ican dock-building, munching sweets that 
the American Red Cross and the Y. M. C. 
A. distributed in hand-knitted sox. Then, 
filing past the small window of an embarka- 
tion officer who verified our passenger list, 
we boarded the tug Jenette. 

On the bosom of Jenette we pufl'ed into 
deeper water to the most beautiful sight in 
145 



FAREWELL, FRANCE. 

the world, the ship that was to take us home. 
Headquarters company Batteries A, B, C of 
the 135th, Batteries E and F of the 136th, 
and a Camp Dix Detachment packed aboard 
the Vermont. At 8:00 o'clock Wednesdaj^ 
morning, March 12th, our boat and her 
sister-ship, the Connecticut, pulled anchor. 
Three minutes later the ocean waters began 
to roll in snowy curls along the gray steel 
prows. We stood along the chain railings, 
our faces turned toward the vanishing shore. 
France was fast disappearing. 

Farewell, France, courageous sister re- 
public, with your million dead youths and the 
flags of victory flying over your shattered 
homes. Is it only with light hearts and 
laughter that we see you slowly drop below 
the ocean's ridge? Your statesmen say you 
are our debtor. What do we owe you? 

In the mud of your battle-grounds we 
labored and grew strong of body and of will. 
In the solitude of miserable shacks on your 
war-zone hillsides we first made full appraisal 
of the loved ones whom we yearned to see, and 
laid the plans, if given a chance, to mend our 
past indifference. In your dripping dugouts, 

146 




Travels of "A" in France 



THE "VERMON T." 



the dross of life all fallen away, we pledged 
ourselves more worthy futures, if futures we 
were granted. Among privations of your 
war-time meagerness, we learned to help a 
comrade and to share. On your streets and 
in your homes, we formed a homely creed of 
world brotherhood and tolerance. And from 
your shores we saw, in distant and clarified 
prospect, America, more humane, more glor- 
ious, more beloved than ever before — "God's 
Country." It is this that is hidden under our 
blouses in our hearts. We think it as we 
leave you. We are not always the wild, 
thoughtless boys that you imagine. The 
"crazy Yanks" have "feelings" but, unlike 
you, it is a part of Yankee nature not to show 
them. * * * :!= * * 

Our life on the Vermont, after the first 
pale green day, was happy and carefree, re- 
calling the Hororata only by contrast save 
in one respect : we were crowded for sleeping- 
quarters on both boats. Awkward land-lub- 
bers though we were, always getting in the 
way and littering the ship with unseamanly 
stuff, the 700 sailors of the crew "treated us 
like good sports." Our food was well cooked 

147 



LIFE ON THE DEEP. 

and came in good amount, tempting even 
squeamish stomachs. A ship's canteen, oper- 
ating during the entire trip, sold us Ward's 
cakes, chocolate bon bons, cigars and cigar- 
ettes at cost price. A ship's library supplied 
us with books that we read on decks clean as 
kitchen floors. For our entertainment the 
ship's band played daily concerts. At night, 
in mid-ocean, under a moon that silvered the 
ripples of a placid sea. Bill Hart dashed 
across the plains on the quarterdeck, or 
some fair queen of hearts made strong men 
fight, while we bellowed cheers from our 
perches in the steel masts or on the twelve- 
inch gun-turrets. When the weather was not 
so calm, we went below to the recreation 
room, equipped with games, tables, and a 
player-piano. Yet the days were long days 
and, to the American soldier who has fought 
on foreign soil, ever will be long. 

March 22nd furnished us a little diver- 
sion in the line of a northwester. Beginning 
calmly, the day ended in a gale. Those of us 
who slept on deck were ordered below. 
Hatches were closed and all watches doubled. 
By midnight mess-kits were bursting with 

148 



A NORTHWESTER. 

a "bang" on floors strewn with sleepers, and 
suspended hammocks swung like pendulums 
in perfect unison. We arose in the morning 
to find the ship rolling heavily and great 
waves bursting on deck. No one was al- 
lowed above, but a few venturesome Vikings 
evaded the guards, as usual. In the steel 
riggings the wind was moaning dismally, 
like a tornado tearing through a pine forest. 
A great blue breaker transparent as glass 
rose above the ship, broke headlong on the 
starboard deck, tore loose fifty bushes of 
crated potatoes that had been lashed there, 
and poured six inches of salt water through 
the only open hatchway, while the drenched 
gang below hollered with glee. It was an 
experience filled with surprises that we en- 
joyed, for we had long since acquired our 
sea-legs and our sea-stomachs. Further- 
more, those big glass mountains that boomed 
against the port-holes were "just healthy 
American waves coming from the nearing 
shores to say 'Hello'." It had been an- 
nounced that we would see land the next 
morning. We were "all set" to walk down 
the gang-plank. 

149 



"WATCHFULWAITl NG." 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



Y-^|ONG before dawn March 24th many 
AA of us were on deck. The sea was calm 
^^M again. A fresh breeze was blowing. 
The sky was still grey from the storm that 
had passed. We did not talk. We only gripped 
queerly at the chain railing, and waited. Far 
across the water, dim and elusive as a mirage, 
a white light beamed. We strained forward 
with eyes and bodies. It vanished. For an- 
other moment it appeared and faded. The 
ship sailed on, but our gazes and our hopes 
did not leave the spot of the prophetic gleam. 
Suddenly it beamed once more, remaining 
bright and sending us the first silent message 
from the shore. It was the lighthouse on the 
Cape. In the dark under that golden spear- 
point, we knew was "God's Country." 

At the edge of the horizon behind us day 
began to creep upward, filling the world with 
spectral light, and our "star," while our com- 
rades all came on deck, paled in the greater 
150 



THE REVELATION. 

brightness to invisibility. In its place we 
saw the tall white column of the lighthouse 
on Cape Henry. And then, as if Nature her- 
self had planned the Great Revelation, the 
landward storm-clouds, like some great cur- 
tain on a superhuman stage, lifted with slow 
and ponderous majesty. Below them, glor- 
iously revealed to us in the first floods of 
morning light, worthy to die for, more wor- 
thy to live for, America swelled the hearts of 
her returning pilgrim sons. 

For a few brief moments we stood there, 
mute, our throats aching with emotions of a 
depth and quality we had never known be- 
fore. They were hardly endurable. Then 
something "snapped" within us. We began 
to speak trifling irrelevancies or to comment 
inanely on some object along the shore. A 
comrade seated on a gun-turret shouted 
coarse jokes at those below him without ap- 
parent provocation. Our band struck up 
"Homeward Bound." We applauded mechan- 
ically. A sturdy little tug crowded with 
Ohioans passed along our port side, turned 
and caught us, its band playing triumphal 
airs and its passengers wildly waving flags. 
151 



NEWPORT NEWS. 



We thought we ought to cheer for them. It 
was only courtesy and appreciation. So we 
cheered. A great banner bearing the divi- 
sional insignia was hoisted to the masthead 
of our ship. We had to acknowledge that, 
too. It was a clever idea. Tugs and battle- 
ships at the entrance to The Roads tooted 
their whistles in welcoming chorus. That 
was nice of them, and we naturally must 
show that we thought so. 

At pier No. 5, NEWPORT NEWS, we 
went over the gangplank to the dock. 
Three brass bands wanted to play for 
us. Not agreeing on a sequence, they all 
played at once. Red Cross nurses gave 
us souvenirs and sweets. Friends from 
Cleveland, overjoyed at seeing us, shook our 
hands. We leaned against our packs, silent, 
fully aware that "something ought to be 
done," but helpless to do it. Newport News 
received us heartily. People cheering and 
clapping lined the streets as we marched to 
CAMP STUART. By way of welcome, a 
somber man of business forgot himself, 
seized a hatchet lying on the sidewalk and 
revolved it with a mighty din in a large ash- 
152 



"WHY DON'T YOU SMILE?" 



can. A housewife dressed for a formal party 
threw open a window, hung far out, and filled 
the air with beatings on a dish-pan. School 
children sang choruses and passed us original 
verses of greeting. We marched under an 
Arch of Triumph. But all along the way we 
heard: "Smile boys — why don't you smile? 
You're home again!" Some of us obeyed, 
weakly. 

What was the matter at this, our home- 
coming, the biggest event of our lives? 
Weren't we glad to get home? Why didn't 
we do something ? Why didn't we dance and 
holler and sing? Why didn't we? The rea- 
son already has been implied: it was the 
biggest event of our lives. It was too big. 



At CAMP STUART, after we had re- 
claimed in an hour the year's supply of pie 
and ice cream due us, we wired home thus: 
"Dear folks — arrived Newport News 10:00 
A. M. — please send twenty dollars." The 
next day all theoretical stowaway cooties who 
had foiled the S. 0. S. and crossed to America 
with us were despatched once and for all in 
153 



APRIL FOOL. 



the best plant for the purpose we had seen. 
We emerged from the process looking like the 
rookie outfit of an army of hobos. Where 
were all the handsome heroes of an hour ago ? 
But on the 28th our mangled uniforms were 
pressed and those irretrievable were replaced 
by new issues. A few more "show-down" in- 
spections brightened the remainder of our 
time until April 1st, when we made up our 
rolls and marched to Tourist Sleepers. Were 
we the victims of the first day in April ? On 
another track was a row of beautiful red box- 
cars. 



154 




w / 



o( Battery "A," 135th Field Artillery. Taken March, 1^19, at Camp Stuart, Newport News, Va. 



THE OLD HOME TOWN. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



© 



UT at 12:00 noon we left Newport 
News in the "sleepers." We glided 
once more out into the broad and un- 
confined sweeps of our American country- 
side. To us, returned from Europe's garden 
hillsides, the new scenes symbolized the big- 
ness of life in our United States. Out across 
the Virginia fields we saw the fresh pink of 
peach blossoms. It was Springtime in Na- 
ture — Springtime in our hearts, as we stood, 
vigorous, victorious, grateful on the threshold 
of a great re-birth in our own lives. 

At 5 :00 o'clock April 2nd dear old Cleve- 
land took us back to her heart. She did it 
first with a deafening chorus of whistles on 
the same factories that had "helped us 
through" Over There — with first-page head- 
lines in the daily papers — with delirious 
crowds that pulled us from the windows of 
our coaches before the brakes were set. Then, 
April 3rd, after the tears of gladness were 
155 



TAPS. 

shed at home, she turned out en masse to see 
us parade in overseas attire. She barraged 
us with confetti, with streamers, with flow- 
ers, with bands — all fired from a camouflage 
of flags, bunting and welcome signs. She 
drove us through trenches of joyous faces 
banked five stories high in the down-town 
streets. And, finally, we charged through an 
arbor of roses into Central Armory, where, 
in the presence of a gallery of friends, our 
mothers irresistably counter-attacked with 
spring chicken and ice-cream. 



And that is about all concerning our army 
days. April 4th and 5th we paraded in To- 
ledo and Columbus. Then we went to bar- 
racks at CAMP SHERMAN, there to await 
the completion of paper-work that would 
make us, after two years with the Flag, 
civilians again. April 10th the Captain said 
goodbye to us. His words were the taps of 
the rich and adventurous life we had spent 
together, containing soothing relief from 
duty well done, but also a note of parting sad- 
ness. Three hours later, our red chevrons 
156 



ANOTHER WAR. 



on our sleeves above the gold, and our hon- 
orable discharges in our pockets we were on 
the train. In the Union Depot at Cleveland 
we shook the hands of pals welded to our 
hearts as only the dirt and the sweat and the 
dangers we had shared could weld them. 
Then, each choosing his separate path, we 
vanished into the world to begin the greater 
battle that only the last long-lingering taps 
of life will end. 



157 



"FAMOUS WORDS AND PHRASES." 



W 



E print hereunder a collection of the "Famous 
Words and Phrases" coined or used in Bat- 
tery "A". The list has been the victim of an 
editorial sterilization which we much would 
have preferred to leave undone; but the possibility of 
its being read in "mixed society" has compelled us to 
omit some of the more "vivid" language. So here 
they are, hygienic, impersonal, 100% pure, unlocking 
10,000 miles of laughs and cusses scattered anywhere 
between Ohio, Alabama, France and back again — 
the golden keys to the Battery memory-chest. 

I give up. 

Ill bite. 

Razzzberry ! 

I bend this up on you. 

Some day I crucify that Boche. 

Who's a go. 

Going to camp. 

Ride that horse. 

Frog. 

40 Hommes. 

Good Boche. 

De war am finnee. 

But not this load. 

Vas iss. 

Not chet. 

Hear me. 

All we do is sign the pay-roll. 

Submarine chicken. 

Birdseed. 

158 



"FAMOUS WORDS AND PHRASES." 



Corned Willy. 

Slum. 

Gold fish. 

Upsetting- exercises. 

Black strap. 

Tripe. 

India Rubber. 

Cement. 

Sand. 

Oleo. 

Red Horse — alias Chevaux Rouge. 

Rest Camp. 

Hororata. 

Quiet front. 

Mess kits in. 

Mess kits out. 

Blankets in. 

Blankets out. 

Details for today. 

With me, begin. 

Bull ring. 

Hold 'er, Newt. 

She's headed for the stables. 

Feet out off stirrups — trrrot. 

Now that we're at the front, we'll turn in our 

pistols. 
Coffee at the next stop. 
Make him a corporal. 
Well — I hardly expected that. 
Gravel-agitators, fall in. 
Dismounted polo. 
He fed, he watered, and he groomed, but he was 

only a cannoneer. 
Stand to heel. 

Dis is known as de aloit position. 
Barracks bags and shoes off the floor. 

159 



"FAMOUS WORDS AND PHRASES. 



Tent sides up. 

Lights out. 

Comfortable French billets. 

No gas. 

French property rights. 

Join the artillery and ride to war. 

End o' the line. 

Who sold you a ticket? 

Going to Germany. 

Going home. 

So this is Paris. 

Cooks will gladly give you hot water. 

Bathe before going into action. 

Keep off the polo field. 

Iron rations. 

Clothing at port of embarkation. 

Monkey drill. 

At this crucial moment do not fail us. 

Down in the deep dugout. 

S. O. L. 

Don't think the war is over. 

No passes to Paris until that stove is found. 

Cut it out — will yuh? 

Oh sugah! 

Does oo love me, honah? 

What I mean — . 

Give 'em rice. 

You can't kick on that. 

No combien. 

Rise and shine. 

Let's go. 

Squads east — squads west. 

No buhter. 

Finis cognac. 

Gas ! 

Anyone find a white ivory soap-box? 

160 



"FAMOUS WORDS AND PHRASES. 



Anyone find a black toilet kit? 

Big and strong and dumb. 

Mawnin' Advetisah. 

Partee toot suite. 

Cease grooming. 

Barrage. 

Fall out and start policing. 

Prepare for inspection. 

Put out that fire. 

Any mail? 

Fall in with picks and shovels. 

Cover-alls and full canteens. 

Is this Venture "A"? 

Gold-bricker. 

Three days kitchen. 

We'll probably get trucks— at least to haul the 

packs. 
Eighty-one horses coming. 
You must have it for inspection. 
In cadence, exercise. 
Dress up them lines! 
See the world. 

Good pay and learn a trade. 
Where do we go from here? 
See that I'm not disturbed, sergeant. 
Lead out to water. 
Aw-w-w-11 down! 
Where's your playmate? 
Pas compree. 
Shoot eleven. 

You will not be permitted to go home with the 
unit. 

Rrrrr-ee-li-ee-ve the waaatch an' th' looookout. 
Allez! 

WWVVWWWelllll. here we come, yes by gum, 
with fife and drum, etc. 

161 



"FAMOUS WORDS AND PHRASES." 



It's a foin army, but I don't loik that big feller. 

Individual mounts. 

Oh, my darling Nellie Gray, they have tooken her 

away, etc. 
Paint it with iodine. 
Going home Christmas? 
Beaucoup triple sec. 
Beaucoup mademoiselle. 
Beaucoup malade. 
Zig-zag. 
Finis. 



162 



GENERAL ORDER NO. 37. 



HEADQUARTERS 135TH FIELD ARTILLERY 
CAMP SHERMAN 

April 9, 1919. 
General Order) 

No. 37 j 

1. Upon the conclusion of the tour of duty of 
the Regiment in the service of the United States, the 
Regimental Commander with a heart full of soldierly 
pride and gratitude, desires to express to you his 
deep appreciation of the spirit of cheerful and loyal 
enthusiasm and earnest co-operation with which you 
have performed every task which has been given you 
as soldiers to perform. You have been at all times 
and in every situation efficient, dependable and untir- 
ing. You have shirked neither work nor danger. 
Your achievements have been characterized by a high 
sense of duty and honor and they have been ac- 
complished with the utmost credit to yourselves and 
your State and Country. 

2. You are now ready for citizenship and the 
tasks of the work-a-day world, and the splendid 
record you have just completed, renders it certain 
that in civilian life you will always be found on the 
side of the right and representative of all that is 
worth while in local and National affairs, just as 
during the past two years you have always repres- 
ented military excellence. 

3. As you depart to your homes I want to wish 
all of you the greatest possible success and happi- 
ness throughout the years to come. 

Dudley J. Hard 
Colonel, Field Artillery 
Commanding 135th Field Artillery 
163 



The fighting long over and our hopes daily 
strengthened by the prospects of an early re- 
turn to America, 1st Lieut. Orville R. Watter- 
son, since June 14th, 1918, a favorite officer of 
Battery "A", was suddenly taken ill. January 
23rd, with penumonia endangering a constitu- 
tion never overly strong, he was moved from 
our billets in Pierrefitte to Base Hospital No. 
91, Commercy, France. There, four days later, 
he bravely answered "Here!" to the roll-call of 
his Superior Officer. On the 28th of January 
we paid him our last feeble homage. We left 
him sleeping in the humble little graveyard of 
Pierrefitte. 

The quaint and simple surroundings of his 
resting place are a fitting expression of the 
character we had learned to esteem. Soft- voiced, 
unobtrusive, generous, he was a type that as a 
private would have made a favorite "buddy"; 
but these qualities, combined with a keen in- 
tellect, a thorough grasp of his army work, 
and an understanding of human nature that 
never once played him false, made him a still 
better officer. The thought that we were leav- 
ing him behind as we marched from Pierrefitte 
for the homeward journey was our only sorrow. 



164 




Lieut. Orville R. Walterson 



165 




Carlton W. Pullen 



166 



As the first faint lighthouse glow in the 
darkness told us of America's nearing shores, 
Private Carlton W. PuUen passed away. Em- 
barking with us at Brest, happy, expectant, he 
seemed in vigorous health. A day later he was 
confined in the ship's sick-bay with what we 
believed to be only severe sea-sickness. Then 
they moved him to a landing launch, lashed to 
the starboard deck, and established a quaran- 
tine, due to spinal meningitis. 

With three medical corps men in constant at- 
tendance and frequent visits from the ship's 
doctor, he fought a losing battle which we 
watched with the sorrow of soldier comrades 
for a faithful pal. For a brief time, toward 
the end of our voyage, perhaps with his hopes 
set on seeing his Country once more, he rallied. 
Then a storm broke. He was carefully moved 
from the weather-side to another launch. An 
hour later a great roller smashed in the canvas 
top of the little boat he had left. And at 5:00 
A. M., March 24th, the sea again peaceful, he 
quietly left us for a Shore with a brighter 
light and a grander promise than the one we 
so expectantly watched over our ship's railing. 
Quiet, genteel, devoted to duty, a good soldier 
and a man whose character stood the tests of 
all the hard days, we knew we had lost a rare 
comrade. 



167 



BATTERY ROSTER. 

(From July 15. 1917 to April 10, 1919.) 



*BOLTON, IBVING C, Captain. 
10701 East Boulevard, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Commissioned July 11, 1917. 

Assgd. to Btry. A. .luly 16, 

1917. Hon. DiSPh. April 10, 
1919. 

♦WILLIAMS, ALLEN, 1st Lieut. 
1S07 East S7th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Commissioned July 11, 1917. 

Trans, fr. Hq. Co. April 24, 

1918. Hon. Diseh. April 9, 
1919. 

*WATTERSON, OBYILLE B., 
1st Lieut. 
Trans, fr. Hq. Co. June 14, 
191S. Fr. D. to S. in B. 
Hosp. No. 91, Commercy, 
France, Jan. 23, 1919. Died 
of pneumonia at B. Hosp. 
No 91, Commercy, France, 
Jan. 27, 1919- 

•SEIDEL, HENBT B., 2nd Lieut. 
Bay Shore, Awixa Avenue. 
Long Island, N. Y. 

Attached as sgt. (fr. Btry. C) 
Nov 27, 1917. Assgd. as 
2nd Lieut. Dec. 21, 1917. 
Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

•SMITH, MALCOLM, 2nd Lieut. 

2160 Scottwood Avenue, 

Toledo, Ohio. 

Attached as sgt. (fr. Btry. B) 
Nov 27. 1917. Assgd. as 2nd 
Lieut. Dec. 21, 1917. D. S. 
to Hq. Co. as Tel. Officer. 
2nd Bn., Oct. 16, 1918. D. 
S. to D. -Nov. 22, 1918. 
Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

FINDLEY, QUAY H., 2nd Lieut. 

7011 Euclid Avenue, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Assgd. to Btry. A. July 16, 
1917. Trans, to Hq. Co. 
NOV. 16, 1917. 



GARFIELD. JOHN N., 1st Lieut. 

Euclid Avenue, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Assgd. to Btry. A as 2nd 
Lieut. July 15, 1917. Com- 
missioned 1st Lieut. Dec. 18, 
1917. Trans, as Capt. to 
134th F. A. April 23, 191S. 

SPIETH, WILLIAM P., JR., 
1st Lieut. 

10007 Euclid Avenue, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Assgd. to Btry. A July 16, 
1917. Trans, as Capt. to 
136th F. A. May 11, 1918. 

MERIAM, ALBERT Y., 

1st Lieut. 
15661 EucUd Avenue, 
Cleveland. Ohio. 

Assgd. to Btry. A July 16, 

1917. Trans, to Hq. Co. 

Nov. 16, 1917. 

BROWN, HARVEY H., 1st Lieut. 
2727 EucUd Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Trans, fr. Hq. Co. as 1st 
Lieut. May 11, 1918. Trans, 
to Hq. Co. May 23, lltlS. 

BOABDMAN, KENNEDY. 

2nd. Lieut. 
122 East S2nd Street, 
New York City. 

Attached as 2nd Lieut. Aug. 

6. 1918. Assgd. to Hq. Co. 

Sept. IS, 1918. 

BICKHAM. WILLIAM D. 
2nd Lieut. 
Attached to Btry. A fr. O. 
B. C. Sept. 27, 1917. Drop- 
ped Jan. 5, 1918. 



•Combat service with Battery "A." 

168 



DOYLE, ARTHI-R W., 2iul Lieut. 
733 Market Street. 
Akron. O. 

Attached to Btry. A. fr. O. 

R. C. Oct. 25. 191T. Trans. 

to Btry. B as 1st Lieut. Nov. 

10, 1917. 

FULLERTOX, DWIGHT L.. 
2nd Lieut. 

Attached to Btry. A fr. O. R. 
C. Sept. 27, 1917. Trans, to 
112th Trench Mortar Btry. 
Dec. 4, 1917. 

McCarthy, thomas h. 

Segundo, Colorado. 

Assgd. to Hq. Co. Jan. 25, 
1919. Attached to Btry. A 
Jan. 25, 1919. Detached April 
8, 1919. 

ROBERTS, EDWIN W., 
2nd Lieut. 

Attached to Btry. A fr. O. K. 
C. Sept. 20. 1917. Detached 

Sept. 29, 1917. 



*ABEGGLEN. RAYMOND F. 
703 S. Seneca Street, 
Alliance, Ohio. 

Enlisted Nov. 20, 1917. Assgd. 

to Btry. A Nov. 21, 1917. 

Appt. Pvt Icl Jan. 17, 1919. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

ADAMS, FRANK D. 

D. S. to 0. T. S. Aug. 25, 
1917. Hon. Disch. to accept 
commission Nov. 26, 1917. 

♦ADRIAN, ARTHUR. 

833 Broad Street, 

Menasha, Wis. 
Enl. June 4, 1918. Assgd. to 
Btry. A Oct. 24, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon .Disch. 

"ALLEN, ALVIN A. 

R. F. D. No. 1. 

Crosby, Pa. 

Enl. May 30, 1918. Assgd. to 
Btry. A Oct. 24, 1918. Trans, 
to Camp Upton Detachment 
Feb. 23, 1919, tor Hon. Disch. 

•ALLEN. EDGAR T. 

818 W. Miami Street, 

Logansport, Ind. 
Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 191S. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 



ALLIS, WILLIAM P. 

527 Broadway, 

Bedford. Ohio. 

527 Broadway, Bedford Ohio. 
Enl. May 5, 1917. D. S. to 
O. T. C, Leon Springs, 
Texas. Jan. 7, 1918. D. S. 
to D. April 18, 1918. Appt. 
Sgt. fr. Pvt. April 19, 1918. 
Hon. Disch. to accept com- 
mission as 2nd Lieut. May 
9. 1918. 

•ANDERSON, WALTER. 

1914 W. 71st Street, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 
Enl. Aug. 16, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl April 19, 1918. Pvt 1 cl 
to Corp. Sept. 11, 1918. 

♦APPLEBEE, TOM W. 
Plainfield, Wis, 

Enl. June 4, 1918. Assgd. to 
Btry A Oct. 24, 191». Trans, 
to Camp Hill Detachment 
April 1, 1919, for Hon. Disch. 

*ASBECK, EDWARD C. 
518 E. 118th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. June 2, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. Disch. 
April 10, 1919. 

ATKINS, EARL H. 

12209 Ingomar Avenue, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 14, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Pvt. 1 cl 
to Corp. April 16, 1918. Trans. 
to Base. Hosp. June 15, 1918. 

•AUST, FRANTCLIN W. 

7325 Cedar Avenue, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 17. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Jan. 9. 1918. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

•AYERS, GLENN H. 
R. F. D. No. 2, 
Chagrin Falls. Ohio. 

Enl. April 23, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*BACHER, JOHN L. 

Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10. 1918. 
Trans, to Field Hosp. No. 
112. Essey, France, Nov. 9, 
1918. 

BADGER, JAMES G. 
Lafontaine. Ihd. 

Enl. April 13, 1917. Appt. 
Corp. Aug. 3. 1917. D. S. 
to O. T. S. , Leon Springs, 



169 



Texas, Jan. 7, 1918. D. S. 
to D. April 18, 1918. Corp. 
to Sgt. April 19, 1918. Hon. 
Discli. to accept commission 
as 2ncl Lieut. USNG May 11, 
1918. 

»BAELE, RENE 

1317 S. Franklin Street, 

South Bend, Ind. 

Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 

. to Biry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

*BAESLACK, WILLIAM A. 

1149 E. 71st Street, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 
Enl. July 6, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl May 13, 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*BAKEE, JAMES T. 
Riley, Ind. 

Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Febr. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

*BALKE, CLARENCE T. 

K. F. D. No. 4. 

Paducah, Ky. 

Enl. April 29, 1918. Trans, 
fr. Btry C June 25. 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919. for 
Hon. Disch. 

•BANYAS, GEORGE JR. 
Fontanet, Ind. 

Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 191S. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

*BARR, GEORGE R. 

5734 Solway iStreet, 
Pittsburgh, Pa. 

Enl. April l8, 1917. Appt. 

Corp. Aug. 11. 1917. Corp. 

to Sgt. April 19. 1918. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*BARRY. CHARLES V. 

2173 E. 81st Street, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. July 12. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl June 20, 1918. Pvt 1 el 
to Corp. Sept. 1, 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 



BASTIN, JOHN W. 

Enl. April 17, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Base Hosp., Camp 
Upton, L. I.. June 27, 1918. 

BATES. BERNARD M. 

Enl. June 1. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Sept. 1. 1917. To Base 
Hosp.. Camp Sheridan. Ala., 
Oct. 27, 1917. Hon. Disch. 
Nov. 17, 1917. 

*BAXJDER, CARL B. 

No. 304 T. M. C. A. Bldg.. 

Toledo, Ohio. 

Enl. April 4, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Feb. 1, 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*BAUGH, JACOB E. 

661 N. Water Street, 

Terre Haute, Ind. 

Enl. April 28, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

♦BAURLE. EDWARD W. 

950 Edward Avenue, 

Louisville, Ky. 

Enl. April 29, 1918. Assgd 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

*BEAVER, EDGAR W. 

Box 91, 

Cayuga, Ind. 

Enl. April 28. 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10. 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23. 1919. for 
Hon. Disch. 

♦BECKWl'TH, ARTHUR M. 

13 Hope Street. 

New London. Conn. 
Enl. April 30, 1917. Red. fr. 
Pvt 1 cl to Pvt Feb, 18. 1919. 
Trans, to Camp tlpton De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

*BBNEFIBL. EDWARD R. 

1131 McLain Street. 

Indianapolis, Ind. 

Enl. April 26. 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10. 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 



170 



BERRY, ELMER W. 

Enl. Oct. 12, 1917. Fr. Ilq. 
Co. to Btry. A Feb. 18, 1918. 
Trans, to Art. School, Sau- 
mur, France. Aug. 29, 1918. 
Attacheii to Btry. A, pending 
commission, Dec. 11, 1918. 
Assgd. to Btry. A as Pvt Feb. 
18, 1919. To Sorbonne Uni- 
versity, France, Feb. 28, 1917. 

BESCH, FREDERIC C. 
3641 Sacltett Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 18, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Sept. I, 1917. Trans. 

as Pvt 1 cl to Hq. Co. Feb. 

5, 1918. 

BLANCHAKD, THEODORE G. 

Trans, to Btry. B. Aug. 27, 
1917. 

*BODENBENNER. JOSEPH J. 

2020 Garland Avenue, 

Louisville, Ky. 

Enl. April 29, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, lor 
Hon. Disch. 

*BOLGER, THOMAS H. 
1713 Strathmore Avenue, 
East Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 28, 1917. Appt. 
Mech. Aug. 3. 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

BOLLAM, ALBERT B. 

5709 Wlilte Avenue, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 29, 1917. Trans, to 
Camp Hancock, Augusta, Ga. , 
Jan. 31, 1918. 

•BOSSARD, GUT A. 
R. P. D. No. 2, 
Saegertown, Pa. 
Enl. Aug. 25, 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*BOUGHEB, CHESTER M. 

924 Bates Street, 

Logansport, Ind. 

Enl. June 4, 1918. Assgd. to 
Btry. A Oct. 24, 1918. Trans, 
to Camp Taylor Detachment 
Feb. 23, 1919, for Hon. Disch. 

BOWMAN, LEONARD C. 

Care of Phi Gamma Delta Frat. 
House, Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 16, 1917. Trans. 

lo Hci. Co. Jan. 20. 1918. 

Trans, fr. Hq. Co. to Btry. A 



March 1, 1918. Trans, to F. 
A. Replacement Begt. Sept. 
26, 1918. 

*BOYD, VERNON. 

Painesville. Ohio. 

Enl. April 30. 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl April 19. 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*BRADY, BYRON G. 

7016 Quinby Ave., Cleveland, O. 
Enl. June 2, 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10. 1919. 

BRANDT, WILLIAM E. 
11814 St. Clair Avenue, 
Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. July 13. 1917. Trans. 

to Hq. Co. Nov. 13, 1917. 

BRECKENRIDGE. PAUL G. 

397 New York Avenue, 
Rochester, Pa. 

Enl. April 13, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl March 4, 1918. Trans. 

as Pvt 1 cl to Med. Dept. 

37th Div. May 9, 1918. 

"BRIAN, ARTHUR S. 
388 McKlnley Avenue, 
Salem, Ohio. 
EnL May 3, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. Disch. 
April 10, 1919. 

•BROWN, BRINTON C. 

4th Street. 

Beverly, Ohio. 

Enl. May 7. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl June 30, 1918. Trans, 
to Evacuation Hosp. No. 19, 
France, Dec. 29, 1918. 

BROWN, JAMES A. 
2083 E. 83rd Street, 
Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. Aug. 5. 1917. Appt. Pvt 

1 cl Oct. 1. 1917. Trans. 

to Camp Green, N. C. Jan. 

7, 1918. 

*BUNKEB, FLOYD. 

Pendleton, Ind. 

Enl. April 25. 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

BUNTING. WILLIAM H. 

Care of Benj. Moore Co., 

1314 Marquette St., 

Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. May 31. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Sept. 1. 1917. Trans, 
to Sup. Co. Jan. 23, 1918. 



171 



BUTLER, CLIFFORD L. 

Hon. Disch. Aug. 2. 1917. 

BURDICK, CARLTON W. 

Hon. Disch. Aug. 4, 1917. 

*CAGG, MILES H. 

B. D. No. 3, 

Nelsonvllle, Ohio. 

Enl. Dec. 11, 1916. Trans, as 
Corp. fr. Q. M. C. N. A. 
May 18, 1918. Corp. to Pvt 
Nov. 2, 1918. To Sorbonne 
Univ., France, Feb. 26, 1919. 

*CAIN, OMAB J. 

9208 Yale Avenue, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 
Enl. May 14. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 ol April 19, 1918. Pvt 1 el 
to Corp. June 17, 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*CALLAHAN, FREDERICK B. 

3250 Euclid Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 

1 cl to Corp. Oct. 18, 1917. 

Corp. to Sgt. Dec. 14, 1917. 

Sgt. to Mess Sgt. Dec. 16, 

1917. Mess Sgt. to June 1. 

1918. Sgt. to Sup. Sgt. Aug. 
1, 1918. Hon. Disch. April 
10, 1919. 

*CALTA, AUGUST. 

13701 Bartlett Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. Sept. 1, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Jan. 9, 1918. Hon. 

Disch. April 11, 1919. 

*CABEY, HAMPSON. 
377 Franklin Avenue, 
Salem, Ohio. 
Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. Red. to 
Pvt March 16. 1918. Beappt. 
Corp. April 16, 1918. Corp. 
to Mess Sgt. Sept. 1, 1918. 
Trans, as Sgt. to Art. School, 
Saumur, - France, Oct. 28, 
1918. Assgd. to Btry. A as 
Pvt Feb. 18, 1919. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Feb. 19, 1919. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

CARMITCHEL, BENJAMIN H. 
Strong, No. County, Pa. 
Enl. June 2, 1917. Trans, 
to Hq. Co. Oct. 2, 1917. 

*CARB, DEAN W. 

1671 Auburndale Avenue, 
Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. May 21, 1917. Appt. 

Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. Corp. 



to Sgt. Jan. 10, 1918. Bed. to 
Pvt. Feb. 18, 1919. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*CARSNEB, ELBOY E. 

1428 Beecham Street, 
Toledo, Ohio. 

Enl. July 24, 1918. Assgd. 

to Btry. A Oct. 24, 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*CARTEAUX, JULIUS F. 

123 Newman Avenue, 

KendalMlle, Ind. 

Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Appt. Pvt 1 cl Nov. 2, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

CASSIDY, JOHN A. 

728 Dixmyth Avenue, 

Cincinnati, Ohio. 

Enl. .June 4, 1917. Trans, as 
Hs. fr. Sup. Co. May 14. 1918. 
Trans, as Hs. to 136th F. A., 
Btry. F., Oct. 6, 1918. 

*CASTEEL, JOHN E. 
1382 Bussell Road, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. Aug. 2, 1917. Assgd. to 
Btry. A April 25, 1918. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Dec. 1, 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

♦CHAPMAN, KENNETH S. 
200 Princeton Avenue, 
Elyria. Ohio. 

Enl. May 7, 1917. Appt. 

Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. Red. 

to Pvt Jan. 10, 1918. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*CHBBVENKA, EUGENE C. 
1710 Buhrer Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 28, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 

1 cl to Corp. June 1, 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

»CHBBVENKA, HOWARD K. 

1710 Buhrer Avenue, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. June 2, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 1 cl 
to Corp. April 19, 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 



172 



♦CHRISTIAN, RUSSELL A. 

6410 Dibble Avenue, 

Clevelainl. Ohio. 

Enl. May 28. 1917. Trans, to 
Base Husp. June 15. 191.S. 
Re-assgd. to IMry. A Oct. 16, 
1918. Hon. Disch. April lU, 
1919. 

•CHRISTY, THOMAS C. 

12341 Euolid Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. Aug. 14. 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 el .Jan. 17, 1919. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*CLARK, ALBERT L. 

1370 King Street, West, 
Toronto. Canada. 

Enl. Oct. 12, 1917. Trans. 

t'r. Sup. Co. Oct. 27, 1917. 

Appt. Pvt 1 cl Jan. 17, 1919. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

CLARKE, ERNEST. 

Enl. April 24, 1917. Appt. 
St. Sgt. Aug. 3. 1917. Re- 
lieveil fr. d. as St. Sgt. Aug., 
1, 1918. Trans, to Vet. Corps' 
N. A., 135th F. A., Aug. 20, 
1918. 

*CLARK, NEIL. 

Windsor Avenue, Del Ray, 
Alexatidria, Va. 

Enl. April 26, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Trans. 

to Camp Upton Detachment 

Feb. 23, 1919, for Hon. 

Disch. 

CLOUSE. RALPH W. 

Enl. June 25, 1917. Trans, 
to Bti-J-. E June 25, lfll7. 

•COLLINS, JAMES H. 
1821 S. Myers Street, 
Paducah, Ky. 

Enl. April 28. 1918. Assg.l. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23. 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

•COLLINS. OMER F. 

1329 E. 124th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. .Tuly 24, 1917. Appt. 

Cook Oct. 1, 1917. Relieved 

fr. d. as Cook May 13, 1918. 

Appt. Pvt 1 cl Aug. 1. 1918. 

Pvt 1 cl to Corp. Nov. 2, 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

COMSTOCK, HENRY M. 

1723 Lake Front Avenue, 

East Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 1. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Trans. 



as Pvt 1 cl to H(i. Co. Jan. 
20, 1918. Re-assgd. to Btry. 
A March 1, 1918. Trans, to 
Camp Merritt, N. J., March 
28, 1918. 

•CONNELL, JAMES J. 
Myers Rd. . 
Geneva, Ohio. 

Enl. May 28. 1917. Appt. Hs. 

Oct. 1, 1917. Relieved fr. 

d. as Hs. May 15, 1918. 

Appt. Pvt 1 cl Dec. 1, 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

COOPER, CHARLES M. 
114 Harmon Street, 
Warren, O. 

Enl. April 15, 1917. Appt. 

Corp. Jan. 10, 1918. Trans. 

as Corp. to 112th Eng. May 

IS, 191S. 

COTTER, MICHAEL J. 
653 E. 93rd Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 30. 1917. Trans. 

to Brigade Hqs. Feb. 22, 1918. 

♦COTTRELL. HERSCHEL M. 

R. F. D.. Box No. 121, 

Terre Haute. Ind. 

Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

COWELL, HOWARD U. 

1447 W. 57th Street, 

Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. May 29, 1917. Trans, 
to Depot Brigade, Camp Jack- 
sou. S. C, May 18, 1918. 

•COX, ALLEN T>. 

2167 E. 101st Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 25. 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

♦CROSSON, ROBERT. 

1000 S. 3rd Street, 

Terre Haute, Ind. 

Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10. 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919. for 
Hon. Disch. 

•CROTTY. DANIEL B. 

2228 E. 95th Street, 
Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. April 16. 1917. Appt. 

Corp. Aug. 3rd, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 



173 



*CBOWN, ELMER. 

404 E. Salem Avenue, 

Salem. Ind. 

Bnl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. to 
Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disoh. 

CULL, PBANK X. 

17406 Nottingham Koad, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. June 4. 1917. D. S. 
to O. R. C. Aug. 25. 1917. 
Hon. Disch. to accept com- 
mission Nov. 26, 1917. 

CULLETON, JOHN R. 

Enl. June 3. 1917. Hon. 
Disch. to enter U. S. Mili- 
tary Academy, West Point, 
May 21, 1918. 

CUSTIN, JAMES R. 
Wakefield, Kans. 

Enl. April 19, 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Trans, 
to 112th Eng. Dec. 4, 1917. 

♦DANIELS, WALTER S. 
4228 Farsyt Avenue, 
East Chicago, Ind. 

Enl. April 24, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1919. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De • 
tachment Feb. 13, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

DANTZEB, ALFRED C. 

Enl. April 30, 1917. Trans 
to Btry. B. Aug. 28, 1917. 

♦DAVIS, KENT L. 

1828 W. 44th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. July 25, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*DAT, JOHN A. 
Twinsburg, Ohio. 

Enl. May 28, 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

♦DELLENBARGEB, LYNN E. 
Ravenna, Ohio. 

Enl. May 4, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Feb. .1. 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

♦DENTON, ORVAL. 
Newburg, Ind. 

Enl. April 26. 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 



♦DIBBEN, WILLIAM T. 

Franklin Street, 

Hudson, Ohio. 

Enl April 17, 1917. Trans. 
to Brigade Has. April 27, 
1918. Ke-assgd. to Btry. A 
Sept. 16, 1918. Trans, to 
Hq. 9th Army Corps Dec. 3. 
1918. 

♦DIERMAYER, FRANK. 
5617 Dibble Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 31, 1917. Appt. 

Mess Sgt. Aug. 3, 1917. Red. 

to -Pvt Sept. 13, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt. 1 cl Oct. 1. 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

DILLON, CARL W. 

619 Middle Avenue, 

Elyria, Ohio. 

Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. Corp. 
to Sgt. Jan. 10, 1918. Trans, 
as Sgt. to Art. School, Sau- 
mur, France, Aug. 29, 1918. 
Attached to Btry. A., pend- 
ing commission, Nov. 29, 1918. 
Assgd. to Btry. A as Sgt. 
Feb. 18, 1919. Hon. Disch. 
April 10, 1919. 

♦DILLON, .TAMES O. 

619 Middle Avenue, 

Elyria, Ohio. 

Enl April 17, 1917. Appt 
Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

♦DOWNS, JOHN P. 

11512 Carolina Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Bnl. April 16, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

♦EADES, THOMAS W. 

R. F. D. No. 1, 

Waynesburg, Ky. 

Enl April 28. 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry A June 10, 1918. 
Appt. Pvt 1 cl Feb. 19, 1919. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

♦EINEMAN, RALPH. 
Sugar Grove, Ohio. 

Enl. June 4, 1917. Trans, 
fr. Hq. Co. Sept. 5. 1918. 
Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

♦ELLIOTT, CARL S. 
Fillmore, Ind. 

Enl April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23. 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 



174 



•BNGLAR, JULIAN J. 

1898 E. 89th Street, 
CleTeland. Ohio. 

Enl. March 26, 1918. Assgd. 

to Btry. A April 1. 1918. 

Appt. Pvt 1 el June 20, 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

♦ERICKSOX, SOLOMON G. 
12302 Beachwood Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 23, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 el April 19, 1918. Pvt 

1 el to Cook June 1. 1918. 

Cook to Pvt 1 cl Aug. 1, 1918. 

Appt. Corp. March 26, 1919. 

Hon. 3)isch. April 10, 1919. 

EVANS, PERCY V. 

1088 E. 148th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 27, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Trans. 

as Pvt 1 nl to Hq. Co. March 

1, 1918. 

*FANNIN, MARQUIS, De L. 
Beechy, Ky. 

Enl. April 29, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10. 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

FARNSWORTH, PAUL. 
Marietta. Ohio. 

Enl. June 16, 1917. Assgd. 
to Btry. A Oct. 27. 1917. 
Trans. to 112th Am. Tr. 
March 29, 1918. 

•FAXOX, HORACE S. 

509 Middle Avenue, 
Elyrla, Ohio. 

Enl. April 30, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

FEICHTMEIER, FRANK. 
8315 Detroit Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. .June 25, 1917. Appt. 
Cook July 15, 1917. Trans, 
as Cook to Ha. Co. April 15, 
1918. 

*FEBAN. RICHARD I. 

680 E. 115th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 13, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1. 1917. Pvt 

1 cl to Corp. June 1. 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10. 1919. 



•FORREST, WALTER A, 

803 S. Main Street. 
Normal, HI. 

Enl. July 17. 1917. Appt. 

Cook fr. Pvt 1 cl April 19, 

1918. Trans, to Base Hosp. 

No. 85, Angers. Frances. Feb. 

23. 1919. 

FOX, GEORGE H. 

632 E. 115th Street. 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. June 6. 1917. Trans, to 
Hq. Co. Aug. 20, 1917. 

•FRANKENSTEIN, HAROLD H. 

932 W. 9th Street, 

Cincinnati, Ohio. 

Enl. June 4, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A Oct. 24, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

•FRANTZ, RAY E. 
Goshen, Ind. 

Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Appt. Pvt 1 cl Dec. 1, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

FREED, AARON A. 

Enl. July 2, 1917. Trans, 
to Btry. B. Oct. 8, 1917. 

FREUND, PAUL H. 
103 Upper 7th Street, 
Evansville, Ind. 

Enl. May 8, 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. 
Trans, as Pvt 1 cl to Hq. Co. 
March 1, 1918. 

•FRITZ, DONALD E. 
513 W. North Street. 
Lima. Ohio. 

Enl. April 18, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10. 1919. 

•GARDNER, VIRGIL W. 

1469 E. 115th Street. 

Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. .lune 4, 1017. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl April 19. 1918. To 
English Univ., Winchester, 
England. Feb. 28, 1919. 

GARRETSON, HIRAM. 

3716 Euclid Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. Sept. 24, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. at Ft. Leavenworth, 

Kans. , to accept commission, 

Feb. 25, 1918. 



175 



GARTMAN, ALFRED W. 
2107 W. 89th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. March 30, 1914. Appt. 

Pvt. 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Trans. 

to Sup. Co. Nov. 13, 1917. 

*GEAR, CARROLL J. 
10805 Orville Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. June 4, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl June 20, 1918. Red. to 
Pvt .Ian. 17, 1919. Hon. 
Diseh. April 10, 1919. 

•GEORGE, WILLIAM M. 

Liberty, Ind. 

Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10. 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disoh. 

GIBBS, RALPH W. 

O. R. C. Aug. 14, 1917. 

*GIBSON, CLARENCE K. 
R. F. D. No. I, 
Ossian, Ind. 
Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

GIFFOBD, CLARENCE A. 
9609 Empire Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 1, 1917. Appt. Pvt 

1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Trans. 

as Pvt 1 cl to Hq. Co. 

March I, 1918. 

*6REELEY, PATRICK P. 

507 N. New Jersey Street, 

Indianapolis, Ind. 

Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

•GREENFIELD, GEORGE T. 
16715 Lake Avenue, 
Lal?ewood, Ohio. 

Enl. June 4,- 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 
1 ol to Corp. Dec. 14, 1917. 
Corp. to Mess Sgt. June 1, 
1918. Mess Sgt. to Sgt. Aug. 
1, 1918. Hon. Disch. April 
10, 1919. 



*GROVE, BEN.IAMIN H. 

811 S. 16th Street, 

Terre Haute, Ind. 

Enl. April 6, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

*GBUNDER, LELAND X. 
Dunn Avenue, R. F. D., 
Canton, Ohio. 

Enl. April 27, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 11, 1919. 

♦HARDING, WILLIAM W. 

1335 S. Arch Avenue, 
Alliance, Ohio. 

Enl June 2, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

♦HARMON, BRADY H. 

14119 Bardvvell Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. .lune 4, 1917. Appt. 

Hs. Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

♦HARRIS, ARTHUR L. 

North Street, 
Euclid, Ohio. 

Enl. April 18. 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1. 1918. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

♦HARRIS, ORADY. 

507 Cushman Street, 

East Chatanooga, Tenn. 

Enl. .lime 26, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A Oct. 24, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Upton De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

HARRIS, ROSEMAN L. 
4444 N. St. Louis Avenue, 
Chicago, HI 

Appt. 1st Sgt. fr. Pvt Aug. 
3, 1917. D. S. to 0. T. S.. 
Leon Springs, Texas, Jan. 7, 
1918. D. S. to D. April 18, 
1918. Hon. Disch. to accept 
commission as 2nd Lieut. 
USNG May 11, 1918. 

HARRY, SAMUEL. 

Enl. Jime 2, 1917. Trans, to 
Depot Brigade, Camp Jack- 
son, S. C, May 21, 1918. 



176 



»nARTMAN, DALE A. 
342 Bellefontaine Avenue, 
Marion, Ohio. 

Enl. April 17. 191T. Appt. 

Pvt 1 ol April 1. 191S. Pvt 

1 cl to Corp. Aug. 1, 1918. 

To XTniversity of Poitiers. 

France. Feb. 28. 1919. 

HATCHEK, HARRY T. 

Hon. Disfh. to accept com- 
mission at Ft. Benj. Harrison 
Aug. 11, 191T. 

*HATHA\yAY. FOSTER H. 

1824 E. 79th Street, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. Corp. to 
Sgt. Aug. 11, 1917. D. S. 
to O. T. S., Leon Springs, 
Texas, .Tan. 7, 191S. D. S. 
to D. April 18, 1918. Red. 
fr. Sgt. to Pvt Feb. 18, 
1919. Hon. Disch. April 10, 
1919. 

HAY^VARD, HOMER. 
131 Clifton Place, 
Brooklyn . N. Y. 

Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Trans, 
as Pvt 1 el to Hd. Co. April 
17, 1918. 

♦HEDGES. HARRY C. 
1276 W. 110th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 23. 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*HEILE, GUS T. 

1336 E. 91st Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. .fune 4, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 el Sept, 1, 1917. Pvt 

1 cl to Cook June 20, 1918. 

Cook to Corp. Aug. 1. 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10. 1919. 

*HERRIXGSHAW, CHARLES H. 

14473 Euclid Avenue, 
East Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. .Tune 2, 1917. Appt. 

Mech. Oct. 1. 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

HEYDLER, CARL W. 

1903 E. Slst Street, 
Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. Tuly 26, 1917. Trans. 

to Ha. Co. Oct. 2, 1917. 



HILFER. FRANK P. 

3448 Euclid Boulevard, 
Cleveland Heights, Ohio. 

Enl. .lune 2. 1917. Trans. 

to Camp Merritt, N. J., March 

28. 1918. 

HILL. TYRONE T. 

5823 Thomas . Avenue, 

Philadelphia. Pa. 

Enl. .Tune 21. 1916. Trans 
to Camp Merritt, N. J., 
March 28, 1918. 

♦HOLAH, RALPH M. 
14432 Euclid Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 25, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*HOLTKAMP, WALTER H. 

1299 Belle Avenue, 
Lakewood. Ohio. 

EnL .Tune 4. 1917. Appt. 

Pvt. 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Pvt 

1 cl to Corp. .Tan. 10, 1918. 

Corp. to Sgt. Sept. 1, 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10. 1919. 

HORNICICLE, FRANK L. 

Enl. July 9, 1917. D, S. 
to Ft. Benj. Harrison, Ind., 
Aug. 25. 1917. Hon. Disch. 
to accept commission J^ov. 
26, 1917. 

♦HUBER, ALVA H. 

1608 E. 42nd Street, 

Indianapolis, Ind. 

Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919. for 
Hon.' Disch. 

*HUBER. FRED L. 

320 W. 44th Street, 

Indianapolis, Ind. 

Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A .Tune 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, tor 
Hon. Disch. 

HUESTIS, JAMES D. 
1748 Noble Road. 
E. Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 28. 1917. Appt. 

Corp. March 14. 1918. Trans. 

as Corp. to Hq. Cn. Aug 

1, 1918. 



177 



*HUOUENm, BDWABD L. 

1416 Erie Street. 

Tovmgstown, Ohio. 

Enl. May 31, 1917. Appt. 
Cook Sept. 1, 1917. Re- 
lieved fr. duty as Cook June 
1, 1918. Hon. Diseh. April 
10, 1919. 

*HUNT, NATHAN. 

636 McKlnley Avenue. 
Salem, Ohio. 

Enl. April 9. 1917. Appt. 

Mech. in Co. C, 134th Mach. 

Gun Bn. Sept. 25, 1917. 

Trans, to Btry. A as Pvt. 

Nov. 6, 1917. Appt. Pvt 1 <;] 
• June 20, 1918. Hon. Disch. 

April 10, 1919. 

•HfTSON, JOHN P. 

48 North Union Street, 

Salem, Ohio. 

Enl. May 3, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Nov. 14, 1917. Pvt 1 rl 
to Corp. Nov. 2, 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*JAMES, HARRY J. 

10600 Drexel Avenue, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 
Enl. July 7. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Pvt 1 cl 
to Corp. Oct. 18, 1917. 

* JEN SEN, ALBERT C. 
Little Valley, N. T. 

Enl. May 7, 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

'JOHNSON, LAWRENCE R. 
1320 W. 93rd Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 13, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*JOYCE, CHARLES W. 

696 E. 117th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 12, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 

1 cl to Corp. Feb. 13, 1918. 

Hon, Disch. April 10, 1919. 

JOYCE. FRANCIS T. 
696 E. 117th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 1, 1917. Appt. Pvt 

1 cl Jan. 9, 1918. Trans. 

as Pvt 1 cl to Sup. Co. June 

10, 1918. 



*JUSTEN, LEO. 

309 W. 20th Street, 
Lorain, O. 

Enl. .Tune 29, 1917. Appt Pvt 
1 cl June 20, 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

KAMERER, CHARLES L 

7.506 Everett Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. .Tune 16, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. D. S. 

to O. T. S., Leon Springs," 

Texas, .Tan. 7. 191S. D. S. 

to D. April 18, 191S. Appt. 

Sgt. April 19. 1918. Trans. 

to P. A. Repl. Depot. Camp 

Jackson, S. C, April 13. 1918. 



*KENNEDY. CHARLES T. 
.523 McKinley Avenue, 
Salem, Ohio. 

Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 

1 el to Corp. Jan. 10. 1918. 

Corp. to Sgt. .Tune 17. 1918. 

Sgt. to St. Sgt. Aug. 1, 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 



^KENNEDY, DONALD F. 

1880 E. 79th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 12. 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1. 1917. Pvt 

1 cl to Corp June 17. 1918. 

Corp. to Sgt. Sept. 11. 1918. 

Sgt. to 1st Sgt. Nov. 1. 1918. 

Trans, to Conv. Hosp. . Camp 

Sherman, Ohio, April 10 

1919. 



*KINSEY. BOY E. 

242 N. Liberty Street, 
Galion, Ohio. 

Enl. April 13. 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1. 1917. Pvt 
1 cl to Corp. Oct. 18. 1917. 
Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

KOPMAN, HAL W. 
9203 Hillock Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. .Tune 4, 1917. Appt. 

Bugler Aug. 3. 1917. Bugler 

to Pvt. Aug. 15. 1917. Trans. 

to 19th Eng., Camp Merritt. 

N. J., March 18, 191S. 



178 



*KORTZ, CLYDE C. 

9408 Empire Avenue. 

(Mevelaml, Ohio. 

Eiil. .Tune 4. 1917. .\ppt. St'l. 
fr. Pvt. Aug. 3, 1917. Trans, 
to Base Hosp. , .Camp Sheri- 
dan. Ala., June 15, 1918. 
Reported to Btry. A Ort. 28. 
191S. Assgd. to Btr.v. A as 
Sgt. Dec. 1. 1918. Hon. 
Disrh. Aiiril 10. 1919. 

*KO\VAI,SKI. A.XTOX. 

1044 E. 141st Street, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 28. 1917. Appt. Ch. 
Mech. Aug. 3. 1917. Trans, 
to Conv. Hosp., Camp Sher- 
man, Ohio, April 10, 1919. 



"I.ADDS, HERBERT P. 
1645 Putnam Street, 
Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Enl. April 26, 1917. Appt. 
Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. Corp 
to Sgt. Jan. 10. 1918. Sgt. 
to 1st Sgt. Aug. 1, 1918. 
Trans, as 1st Sgt. to Art. 
School, Saumur, Fraiicr. 
Oet. 28, 1918. AttacheiT foi 
rations Feb. 13, 1919. Drop- 
ped Feb. 13. 1919. 

»LAMP, HERBERT A, 
4210 Bridge Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 28, 1917. Appt. 

Cook June 1, 1918. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 



•KUAISE. ANTHONY 

2241 E. 101st Street. 
Cleveland, Ohio. 



EiU. April 30, 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 rl Aug. 1. 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 



*LARIE. GEORGE A. 
1053 E. Center Street, 
Marion, Ohio. 

Enl. June 2. 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1. 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 



KROESEN, RICHARD L. 
11212 Edgewater Drive, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. Aug. 11, 1917. Appt. 
Mess Sgt. fr. Pvt. Sept. 13, 
1917. Mess Sgt. to Sgt. Dei'. 
16, 1917. Trans, as Pvt. to 
Q. M. C. Deo. 17, 1917. 

'KUHX. EARL R. 
R. F. D. No. 5, 
Marietta, Ohio. 

Enl. 7th Ohio Inf. Aug. 12. 

1916. Trans, to Btry. A Oct. 

27, 1917. Appt. Pvt 1 el June 

20. 1918. Hon. Disch. April 

10. 1919. 



•laRTH. HERMAN M. 

E 104th Street & Union Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 
Enl. Jan. 17. 1918. Asrgd. 
to Btry. A March 26, 1918. 
Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*LACKAMP. JAMES B. 
9907 Kempton Avenue. 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. July 25. 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 d Jan. 9, 1918. Pvt 

1 d to Corp. Nov. 2, 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 



LATIMER, ERWIN D. 
7310 Franklin Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. Aug. 15, 1917. 

Pvt 1 cl Oft. 1. 1917. 



Appt. 
Trans. 



to (J. M, C. April 9, 1918. 

•LAWRENCE, ELMER G. 
1246 E. 103rd Street. 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 1. 1917. Appt. 
Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. Corp. 
to Sgt. June 1, 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

LAYTON. HAROLD S. 

Enl. April 15. 1917. Trans, 
to Camp Greene, N. C.. Jan. 
7. 1918. Died of pneumonia 
at Camp Greene. 

♦LEE, ROBERT E. 

9 Powell Lane. Melbourne, 
I'liiladelphia. Pa. 

Enl. April 18. 1917. Appt. 

Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. D. S. 

to O. T. S. , Leon Spruigs 

Texas, Jan. 7. 1918. D. S. 

to D. March 16. 1918. Red. 

fr. Cfirp. to Pvt. Nov. 2. 

1918. Trans, to Camp Upton 

Detachment Feb. 23, 1919, 

for Hon. Disch. 



179 



*LEWIS, NEIL H. 
2100 Stanwood Road, 
East Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 19, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

LEWIS, OWEN L. 

535 S. Union Avenue, 
Alliance, Ohio. 

Enl. June 2, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt. 1 cl Jan. 9, 1918. Trans. 

as Pvt 1 cl to Hq. Co. April 

17, 191S. 

*LEWIS, PHILIP H. 
2100 Stanvfood Boad, 
East Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 18, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 

Uisch. April 10, 1919. 

•LIGHT, RALPH A. 

404 Perry Avenue, 

Ft. Wayne, Ind. 

Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Appt. Cook Aug. 1, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Pisch. 

LINCOLN, DONALD. 

1911 E. 97th Street, 

Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. June 25, 1917. Appt, 
Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. D. S. 
to 4th O. T. C. May 15, 
1918. Trans, to Inf. Repl. 
Troops, N. A., May 25, 
1918. 

*LINE. HARLEY L. 

Route No. 5, 

Columbia City, Ind. 

Enl. March 29, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

♦LISTER, WALTER B. 
Twinsburg, Ohio. 

Enl. Jan. 8, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A March 26, 1918. 
To Univ. of Poitiers, France, 
Feb. 26. 1919. 

•LIVERMORE, HENRY W. 

420 High Street, 

Warren, Ohio. 

Enl. June 2, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl March i, 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 



*LOGAN, EDMUND A. 

15521 CUfton Boulevard, 

Lakewood, Ohio. 

Enl. Aug. 9, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
X cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 1 cl 
to Corp. Oct. 18, 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*LOWBANCE, HARRY L. 
Newburgh, Ind. 

EnL April 29, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1919. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919. for 
Hon. Disch. 

*LUTHER, ALEXANDER H. 
I0I27 N. Boulevard, 
Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. April 25, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt I cl April 3, 1918. Pvt 

1 cl to Corp. Aug. 1, 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*LYTLE, DAVY F. 

Fredericksburg, Ohio. 

Enl. May 31, 1917. Appt. 
Saddler Aug. 3, 1917. Hon 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

•McBBIDE, CHARLES. 
419 E. 3rd Street, 
Dover, Ohio. 

Enl. May 30, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*McBRIDE, JOHN H. 
Ill W. Erie Street, 
Painesville. Ohio. 

Enl. May 3. 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

McCLEEBY, FBEDRIC. 
225 Goshen Boad. 
Salem. Ohio. 
Enl. April 17. 1917. Appt. 
Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. D. S. 
to 4th O. T. C. May 15, 
1918. Trans, to Inf. Bepl. 
' Troops, N. A., May 25, 1918. 

McCUDDEN, RICHARD S. 

Enl. May 30, 1917. Hon. 
Disch. Nov. 13, 1917. 

*McGILL, JOSEPH W. 
923 E. 147th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 28, 1917. Trans, 
to Bvac. Hosp., Millery, 
France, Oct. 23, 1918. Be- 
assgd. to Btry. A Dec. 26, 
1918. Hon. Disch. April 10, 
1919. 
*Mc,MAHON, ROBERT E. 
West Park, Ohio. 

Enl. ,Tuly 24, 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 



180 



*M(RAE. THOMAS H. 

Eagleville, Tenn. 

Enl. Aug. 28, 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Feb. 7, 1918. Pvt 
1 cl to Cook May 13, 1918. 
Cook to Corp. June 1, 1918. 
Corp. to Cook, by request, 
Aug. 1, 1918. Hon. Diseh. 
April 10, 1919. 

MALM, DOUGLAS R. 

1448 E. 115th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 4, 1917. Appt, 

Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. Corp. 

to Sgt. Aug. 11, 1917. Sgt. 

to 1st Sgt. April 19, 1918. 

Trans, as 1st Sgt. to Art. 

School, Saumur, Franre, July 

29, 1918. 

♦MANDELBAUM, HERMAN S. 
10210 Winchester Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 1st, 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 rl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 
Diseh. April 10, 1919. 

*MARK, GEORGE L. 
Alinerva, Ohio. 

Enl. April 30, 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl March 4, 1918. Hon. 
Diseh. April 10, 1919. 

*MARKOWSKI, JOSEPH. 

213 E. 28th St., 
Erie, Pa. 

Enl. June 4, 1917. Hon. 

Diseh. April 10, 1919. 

♦MERRILL, DAVID R. 
130 Lakevicw Avenue, 
Jamestown, N. Y. 

Enl. June 4, 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 el Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 
1 cl to Corp. June 1, 1918. 
Red. fr. Corp. to Pvt, July 
28, 1918. Pvt 1 cl to Corp. 
Nov. 2, 1918. Hon. Diseh. 
April 10, 1919. 

»MEYERS, EDWARD T. 
921 Paradrome Street, 
Mt. Adams, Cincinnati, Ohio. 
Enl. April 29, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A .Tune 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp \ aylor De- 
tachment Feb. li 1919, for 
Hon. Diseh. 



•MILLER, CARL J. 

7C1 Eddy Road, 
Cleveland, Ohio, 

Enl. July 12, 1917. Appt. 

Corp. April 1, 1918. Corp. to 

Sgt. Aug. 1, 1918. Hon. 

Diseh. April 10, 1919. 

•MINSHALL. PERLEY S. 
2525 Chatham Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. July 19, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Red. fr. 
Pvt 1 cl to Pvt. Jan. 17, 1919. 
Hon. Dlsch. April 10, 1919. 

MONROE, HARRY C. 

Enl. May 5, 1917. Trans, to 
Btry. E. May 5, 1917, 

•MONTGOMERY, EDWIN S. 
Frazeysburg, Ohio. 

Enl. May 3, 1917. Assgd. to 
Btry. A Nov. 13, 1917. 
Trans, to Q. M. C. Corps, 
N. A. Camp, Dee. 1, 1917. 
Re-assgd. to Btry. A April 21, 
1918. Hon. Diseh. April 10, 
1919. 

•MOODEY, STERLING A. 
119 Mentor Avenue, 
Painesville, Ohio. 

Enl. April 24, 1917. Appt 
Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 
1 el to Corp. Oct. 18, 1917. 
Hon. Diseh. April 10, 1919. 

MORRIS, DOUGLAS. 

Enl. June 4, 1917. Appt. 
Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. Hon. 
Diseh. Feb. 5, 191S. 

•MOSES, GEORGE. 

1289 Warren Road, 

Lakewood, Ohio. 

Enl. April 4, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A April 8, 1918, 
Hon. Diseh. April 10, 1919. 

MURRAY, JOHN H. 
Painesville, Ohio. 

Enl. April 23, 1917. Appt. 
Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. Corp. 
to Sgt. Oct. 18, 1917. Sgt. 
to Sup. Sgt. Dee. 19, 1917. 
Supt. Sgt. to Mess Sgt. Aug. 
1, 1918. Trans, as Sgt. to 
Art. School, Saumur, France, 
Aug. 29, 1918. Attached to 
Btry. A., pending commission, 
Nov. 29, 1918. Re-assgd. to 
Btry. A as Sgt. Feb. 18, 1919. 
Hon. Diseh. April 10, 1919. 



181 



^NICHOLS. STERLING C. 

7713 Foive Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. Jan. IS, 1918. 

Btry. A March 12, 191S. 

Appt. Pvt 1 cl June 20, 1918. 

Hon. Dlsch. April 10, 1919. 

*NORRIS. MERLE S. 
Twinsburg. Ohio. 

Enl. July 5. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 el Oft. 1, 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*OBERLE, CLAYTON C. 
15710 Cllfion Boulevard, 
Lakevvood, Ohio. 

Enl. June 2, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt. 1 cl Sept. l; 1917. Pvt 

1 cl to Corp. Aug. 1, 1918. 

Corp. to Mess Sgt. Nov. 2. 

1918. Hon. Disch. April 10, 

1919. 

*OBRAZA, FRANIi. 
1391 E. 41st Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. .Tune 2, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

OLIVER, STEVE H. 

Hon. Disch. Aug. 4, 1917. 

OSTERLOH, ALBERT P., JR. 

46 S. Fir Street, 
Akron, Ohio. 



Enl. April 13, 1917. 
Bugler Aug. 15, 1917. 
to Pvt. Sept. 11, 1917. 
(0 Camp Merritt, 



Appt. 
Bugler 
Trans. 
r. J., 



March 28, 1918. Re-assgd. 
to Btry. A Feb. 12, 1919. 
Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

PENNELL, LAWRENCE P. 

549 S. Linden Avenue, 

Alliance, Ohio. 

Enl. April 23, 1917. Appt 
Sgt. fr. Pvt. Aug. 3, 1917. 
D. S. 4th O. T. C. May 15, 
1918. Trans, to Inf. Repl. 
Troops, N. A., May 25, 1918. 

*PETHTEL, HOWARD Z. 

Turney Road, Madison, Ohio. 
Enl. April 30. 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 
1 cl. to Corp. Feb. 7, 1918. 
Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 



*POWERS, HARRY L. 
Lyons, Ky. 

Enl. April 30, 1918. Assgd. 
to BUy. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Hill De- 
tachment April 1, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

*P[JLLEN, CARLTON W. 

Enl. May 29, 1917. Died 5:00 
A. M. March 25, 1919, aboard 
-U. S. S. Vermont. 

*PUSZCZEWICZ, STANLEY. 
1916 Manhattan Street, 
Michigan City, Ind. 

Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 

to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

REED, ROBERT C. 
Athens, Ohio. 

Enl. April 21, 1914. Assgd. 
to Btry. A tr. 136th F. A. 
Nov. 21, 1917. Trans, to 
Btry. E, 135th F. A., Dec. 
4, 1917. 

REYNOLDS, RUSSELL D. 
Painesville, Ohio. 

Enl. May 1, 1917. Trans, 
to 112th Trench Mort. Btry. 
Nov. 9, 1917. 

'ROGERS, STANLEY. 
Covington. Ind. 

Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

HOEMER, JOHN H. 

Hon. Dlsch. July 30, 1917. 

ROSE, DAVID J. 

11710 Beulah Avenue, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. Aug. 9, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Dec. 4, 1917. Trans, as 
Pvt 1 cl to Enlisted Ordnance 
Corps, Dec. 4, 1917. 

ROSSI, ANTHONY. 
2237 Edgehill Road, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 
Enl. .Tune 1, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Trans, to 
Camp Hancock, Augusta, 6a.. 
Jan. 31, 1918. 



182 



SALSIUHC, AlXthPlI I,. 
1517 East Boulfvanl, 
L'luvflaiul. Oliio. 

Enl. July 24, 1917. Trans, 
to ("amp Green, N. C, Jan. 
7. 1918. 

•SCHAK, EDWARD A. 
13902 t'astalia Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. June 3, 1917. Hon. 
Diseh. April 10, 1919. 

♦SCHILENSKE, JOHN L. 
R. P. D. No. 1, 
Berea, Ohio. 

Enl. June 2. 1917. Appt. 
Hs. Oct. 1. 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

SCOTT, ALBERT F. 
124 W. Market Street, 
Alliance, Ohio. 

Enl. June 4, 1917. Trans. 

to Hq. Co. April 17, 1918. 

♦SEGNER, ORLEY W. 

3013 Natehez Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 14, 1917. Appt. 

Bugler Aug. 3, 1917. Bugler 

to Bugler 1 cl Jan. 1, 1919. 

Hon, Disch. April 11, 1919. 

*aELF, BENNIE. 
Fargo, Ind. 

Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 191.S, 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919. for 
Hon. Disch. 

*SEYBOLD, ARNOLD D. 
French Lick, Ind. 

Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. Appt. 
Bugler Oct. 4, 1918. Trans, 
to Camp Taylor Detachment 
Feb. 23, 1919, for Hon. 
Disch. 

•SHINN, THORPE P. 
McGrawsville, Ind, 

Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

•SIEGENTHALER, REINHARD K. 

5617 Dibble Avenue, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. June 2, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl May 13, 1918. Pvt 1 cl 
to Corp. Sept. 1, 1918, Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 



8I1.K, EU.NEST A. 

Trans, to Hii. Co. July 27, 
1917. 

♦SIMONS, VAUGHN H. 
946 Seyburn Avenue, 
Detroit, Mich. 

Enl. April 30, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt. 1 cl Sept. 11. 1918. Hon. 

Diseh. April 10, 1919. 

SIX. GARNET L. 
17 Furnace Street, 
Logan, Ohio. 

Enl. May 29, 1917. Assgd. to 

Btry. A. Oct. 27, 1917. 

Trans, to Enlisted Ordnance 

Corps Dec. 4, 1917. 

♦SIXT. RAYMOND E. 
West Park, Ohio. 

EnL May 11, 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Pvt 
I cl to Corp. Jan. 10, 1918. 
Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

♦SMITH. FRANKLIN H. 
Culbertson. Mont. 

Enl. April IB. 1917. Appt. 
Sgt. fr. Pvt. Aug. 3, 1917. 
Trans, to Conv. Hosp. . Camp 
Sherman, Ohio, April 10, 1919. 

♦SMITH. STUAKT P. 

11506 Clifton Boulevard. 

Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. May 4, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Feb. 1, 1918. Pvt 1 cl 
to Corp. April 19, 1918. 
Corp. to Sgt. Nov. 2, 1918. 
Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

♦SMITH. VERNON J. 

1959 W. 104th Street, 

Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. April 4, 1918. Assgd. to 
Btry. A April 8, 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10. 1919. 

♦SNIDER. FRED J. 
6812 Zoeter Avenue. 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. Aug. 13, 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

SOBOSLAY, ERWIN M. 

Hon. Disch. Aug. 4, 1917. 

♦SOBOSLAY. STEVEN W. 

2774 B. 92nd Street, 
Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. June 1, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 fl April 19, 1918. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 



183 



*SOERELLS. JOHN. 

R. F. D. No. 3, 

Beaver Dam. Ky. 

Enl. April 28, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 191S. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, tor 
Hon. Disch. 

*SPEED, THOMAS R. 
2633 E. 130th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 14, 1917. Hon. 

Dlsch. April 10, 1919. 

*SPEED, WILLIAM S. 
2633 E. 130th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 21, 1917. Appt. 
Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. Corp. to 
Sgt. Aug. 11, 1917. Trans, 
to Field Hosp. , Essey, 
France, Nov. 1, 1918. Re- 
assgd. to Btry. A Nov. 22. 
1918. Red. fr. Sgt. to Pvt. 
Dee. 1, 1918. Hon. Disch. 
April 10, 1919. 

STOFER, FRED H. 

2270 E. 95th Street, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 27. 1917. Appt. 
Sgt. fr. Pvt. Aug. 3, 1917. 
Hon. Disch. to accept com- 
mission Dee. 18, 1918. 

STOFFEL, EDWARD H. 

6704 Hague Avenue, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. July 30, 1917. Trans 
to Hq. Co. March 1, 1918. 

STONE, NATHAN J. 

Trans, to Btry. B Aug. 27, 
1917. 

*STRATTON, DONALD G. 

1544 Robinwood Avenue, 
Lakewood, Ohio. 

Enl. Dec. 6, 1917. Assgd. to 

Btry. A Jan. 23, 1918. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Nov. 2, 1918. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*STRAUGHAN, CHARLEY S. 

Enl. April 29, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Base Hosp., Camp 
Sheridan, Ala,, June 15, 1918. 
Be-assgd. to Btry. A Aug. 17, 
1918. Trans, to Evac. Hosp. 
No. 12, France, Oct. 27, 1918. 



*STRAUSS, BARTHOLD J. 

1875 E. 70th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. June 6, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl April 19, 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

STROCK, HARRY K. 

Geneva, Ohio. 

Enl. May 4, 1917. Appt. 
Sgt. fr. Pvt. Aug. 3, 1917. 
D. S. to 4 O. T. C. May 
15, 1918. Trans, to Inf. 
Repl. Troops, N. A., May 
25, 1918. 

SWEET, CHARLES P. 
Care of Mrs. Ray Simmons, 
R. F. D. No. 4, 
Ashtabula, Ohio. 

Enl. June 1, 1917. Appt. 

Mech. Oct. 1, 1917. Trans. 

as Mech. to Depot Brigade. 

Camp Jackson, S. C, May 

18, 1918. 

*TABEB, HARRY L. 

923 W. Laport Street, 

Plymouth, Ind. 

Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 

*TAY^LOR, ALLAN C. 

R. F. D. No. 5, 

Chardon. Ohio. 

Enl. Oct. 23, 1917. Assgd. to 
Btry. A Oct. 27, 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

TAYLOR, VIRGIL C. 
11916 Carlton Road, 
Euclid Heights, Ohio. 

Enl. June 30, 1917. Appt. 

Corp, Aug. 11, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. to accept commission 

Febr. 6, 1918. 

*TERRELL, HARRISON M. 

231 N. Bast Avenue, 

Oak Park, 111. 

Enl. April 17, 1917. To 
London University, England, 
Feb. 26, 1919. 

♦THOMAS, WILBERT J. 
2241 E. 100th Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 21, 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl May 15, 1918. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 



184 



TIERNBY, EDWARD. 

Care of Mrs. Marguerite Mc- 

Nama, 
921 Liiidy Street. 
Toledo, Ohio. 

EiU. July 11, 1917. Assgil. 

to Btry. A March 20, 1918. 

Trans. to Depot Brigade, 

Camp Jai^kson, S. C. May 30, 

1918. 

•UNDERWOOD, CARL M. 

N. Academy Street, 
Lodi, Ohio. 

Eiil. April 23, 1917. Appt. 

Bugler Aug. 15, 1917. Bugler 

to Pvt. Oct. 4, 1918. Hon. 

Diseh. April 10, 1919. 

VAN WASSENHOVB, AUGUST. 

2212 Cedar Avenue, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. April 12, 1917. App*. 
Cook ,luly 15, 1917. Trans, 
as Cook to Supply Co. June 
10, 1918. Hon. Disch. to ac- 
cept commission as 2nd Lieut, 
and attached to 3Sth Div. 
Hqs. 

*WAGXER, HAROLD C. 
West Park. Ohio. 

Enl. May 11, 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Nov. 2, 1918, Hon. 
Disch. April 10. 1919. 

*WAGNER, JOHN H. 
3287 W. 82nd Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. May 2, 1918. Assgd. 

to Btry. A. May 17, 1918. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

*WALL, ADELBERT M. 
Twinsburg. Ohio. 

Enl. July 7, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
1 cl Oct. 1. 1917. Hon. Disch. 
April 10, 1919. 

•WASOSKI. JOHN. 
South Bend, Ind. 

Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919. for 
Hon. Disch. 

WATTERSON, STUART E. 
8012 Carnegie Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. .Tuly 24, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt. 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. 

Trans, to Sup. Co. as Pvt 

1 cl May 14, 1918. 



WEBER, WINFIELD W. 

2207 E. 85th Street, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Assgd. to Btry. A May 17, 
1918. Trans, to Base Hosp., 
Camp Upton, L. I.. June 27, 
1918. 

•WHITE. EUGENE A. 
25 Brookline Avenue, 
Salem, Ohio. 

Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Pv. 
1 cl to Hs. Dec. 1, 1918. 
Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

"WILLIAMS, HAROLD W. 
231 Carlton Avenue, 
Grand Rapids, Mich. 
Enl. .lune 6, 1917. Appt. 
Corp. Aug. 3. 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

WILLIAMS. ROBERT C. 
790 Woodward Avenue, 
Detroit, Mich. 

Enl. July 10, 1917. Appt. 

Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. Red. 

fr. Corp. to Pvt. April 1, 

1918. Trans, to S. 0. S. 

Hosp., Revigny, France, Oct. 

7, 1918. 

•WILSON, DOUGLAS E. 
3139 E. 94th Street. 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. June 4. 1917. Appt. 

Mech. May 18, 1918. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

»WILSON, JOHN B. 
14104 Idarose Avenue, 
Cleveland. Ohio. 

Enl. April 23, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1. 1917. Pvt 

1 cl to Corp. Oct. IS, 1917. 

Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 

•WISE, HARRY B. 
Painesville. Ohio. 
Enl. June 4. 1917. Appt. 
Pvt. 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 
Disch. April 10, 1919. 

•WISLER. WALTER, A. 
Wakrusa, Ind. 

Enl. April 26. 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A .Tune 10. 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, foi 
Hon. Disch. 



185 



»WITT, FBED R. 

1559 Crawford Koad, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Bnl. April 15, 1917. Appt. 

Bugler Sept. 1, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 

WBAGG, FKANCIS R. 
9706 Empire Avenue, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

E;il. April 24, 1917. Appt. 

Pvt. 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 

1 cl to Corp. Oct. 18, 1917. 

Trans, as Corp. to 37th Div. 

Hq. April 15, 1918. 

•WRIGHT, COY. 
Big Springs, Ky. 

Enl. April 29, 1918. Assgd. 
to Btry. A .Tune 10. 1918. 
Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
Hon. Disch. 



*WRIGHT, .TOHN M. 

Ontario Street, North Hill, 
Akron, Ohio. 

Enl. May 29, 1917. Hon. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 



VVYLLIE, JOHN R. 

1912 B. 70th Street, 

Cleveland, Ohio. 

Bnl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
Sup. Set. fr. Pvt. Aug. 3, 
1917. Hon. Disch. to accept 
commission as 2nd Lieut. Dec. 
18, 1917. 



*ZINGER, CLARENCE W. 
2623 E. 73rd Street, 
Cleveland, Ohio. 

Enl. Aug. 28. IHH. 

Disch. April 10, 1919. 



186 






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